


Somewhere I belong

by DragonQueenTessa



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Say it with me folks - WILLIAM AFTON IS THE WORST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24541435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonQueenTessa/pseuds/DragonQueenTessa
Summary: Michael Afton lives a miserable, lonesome life, and some days he feels like a minor character in a play, just reading the same lines off his script to appease the director who holds all the strings in hand.Ever since murdering his little brother at only age fifteen, Mike's life has been a wreck. Now his strict father has come with a peculiar proposal, and Michael just doesn't have the luxury of telling him 'no, thank you.'
Relationships: Elizabeth Afton & Michael Afton, Elizabeth Afton & William Afton | Dave Miller, Michael Afton & Animatronics, Michael Afton & Henry Emily, Michael Afton & William Afton | Dave Miller, William Afton | Dave Miller & Henry Emily
Comments: 51
Kudos: 176





	1. Somewhere I belong

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Linkin Park's "Somewhere I belong", because I felt it was fitting.
> 
> Before I start: HUUUUGE thanks to my FnaF friends over on discord for getting me hyped for this AU. Regi (I don't know if you have an Ao3) THANK YOU for the fantastic prompt! And thank you Pyro (End_Transmission) for helping me feel like I could actually tackle what will be a big story!
> 
> This AU starts off fairly simple, but it's gonna go BONKERS down the line.

Michael Afton had, for as long as he could remember, experienced strange, impulsive thoughts. Violent ideas. He'd always been that kid on the playground who burned entire trails of worker ants with a magnifying glass, just because he wanted to.

He knew he should never want to actually hurt a human, but it happened from time to time. He played too rough, got too angry. Even his own littlest sibling had to suffer the consequences. And then, one day, it went much too far. Egged on by his friends, Mike had helped them lift the boy up to a very dangerous place...

The sight of it haunted him now, though it wasn't quite fear that had buzzed about his skin that day. The memory of his little brother's head - crushed inside of that bloodied machine - had stuck with him for years, yes, but something hadn't quite clicked in the moment and the days following.

That had come later… Eventually, he had seen the naked reality.

He was the contributing factor that made the events line up in just the right way. If he hadn't been there, if he had not done that, Jerry would have been fine now. Surely his friends wouldn't have picked on the little kid without his older brother assuring them the boy would be fine. After all, as he'd told them, he was _"used to being the runt."_

If not for his meddling, his friends would have let Jerry be. It was his fault. Michael's fault.

He was evil. He hadn't disagreed when his father had called him so. He couldn't face his friends or any of the adults he knew, afterwards.

There was shame, deep shame. For how he'd made it happen, and then how he had reacted when it was too late to go back. Michael remembered feeling… numb, standing there in front of the Fredbear mascot, and then the hospital bed, scarcely comprehending the scene. Terrified to admit it to his friends in the aftermath, he hadn't spoken to any of the three since the accident. As far as he knew, they had not even set foot inside of Fredbear's again.

His life had become a new hell after Jerry's death, their father made sure of that. William had always heavily favored Elizabeth, and that day had given him even more of an excuse. Mike had been only fifteen when he got his brother killed, but at home he was treated like a death-row inmate, not deserving of pity or any support, a veritable lost cause.

Michael became a hermit for a while, dropping out of school and staying holed up in his room for days at a time, avoiding the father who didn't really bother with checking up on him. Mike snuck down the stairs and ate only at night for weeks, terrified to wake the sleeping dragon and incur his wrath.

A few times, father had been down in the kitchen, holding a framed family photo. He would pointedly refuse to meet his son's eyes in the near-darkness, and instead mutter gentle words at the picture of Jerry's smiling face. Michael would grab whatever he had come for and scurry back up the stairs, with not a word exchanged between him and his dad.

They never talked about it, not after the first conversation following the accident. _Father_ mentioned it, sure, but he did not ever permit Michael to provide corrections or contribute to the conversation in different ways. The boy was made to sit quietly, and listen. Every time Mike did something wrong, he'd see the silent threat in William's eyes.

_Don't make me remind you of what you are, monster._

Michael was eighteen now, and life was still Hellish. The Fredbear animatronic was long gone, which was at least a small comfort. His father still co-owned the rebranded location though, which went by Freddy Fazbear's Pizza these days.

The young man had to walk on eggshells around his dad, as the smallest things he did could set William off. In the end Mike had never actually finished school, despite trying his very best, and he'd never held even an entry-level job. When it came to useful life skills, he was quite pathetic.

Plus, he was a murderer. Who was going to hire a trainwreck like him? _A ticking time bomb_ , his father called it.

_"Eventually, you'll do it again. You'll disappoint us, again. Your sister will finally see the evil in you, she was too young to find it at the time. Maybe she'll be your next victim, you surely must realize that possibility."_

He was looking to move out (well, "run away" was a better descriptor really) and had even packed a bug-out bag for it, but he didn't feel ready to take that leap yet. This was all he had for family. Mother had fucked off to God knows where when Jerry and Lizzie had still been toddlers, and Mike had no way to contact her. No family near enough to reach, no friends' houses to couchsurf at. Moreover, he had no cash. Father never gave him any unless he was made to share with his spoiled brat of a sister, and when dad didn't bother to do groceries with his 18 year old son in mind, Mike had to use his quarter of that precious money to get something in bulk that he could eat for the next week or two.

According to father, he did it to teach Michael to be responsible with his money.

Mike would be happy to never have to touch a bowl of white rice with veggies again, after all this was done.

Lost in thought, Michael didn't hear footsteps come to his door. Before spacing out, he had been busying himself with fixing a new hole he'd found in one of his older turtlenecks. They were his favourite piece of clothing, warm and reliable and great at making him feel a little more at ease in his mad world.

For Elizabeth, father would politely knock, but his son didn't get that luxury. Michael whipped his head around at the noise of his father swinging open his son's bedroom door, their eyes meeting. Quickly averting his own just as he'd learned to do, Mike swallowed.

"Uhh… hi dad," He tried, but he could hear from the nasal huff he got in reply that his father didn't want to bother with small-talk. Something burned in those grey eyes.

_"Freddy's needs new employees and spots aren't filling up fast enough. Get off your arse and in the car."_

Mike glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost 11 PM. What a peculiar time to start a conversation, much less broach something like a job offer.

The unexpected nature of the words had Michael racking his brains. His father had insisted from the day he turned 16 that Mike had no need for a job so soon. William assured him that all that he needed was provided to him here, and his accomplished father was not a man who lacked for anything when it came to monetary wealth. _'Besides'_ , Michael painfully remembered his parent's words, _'who would hire you if they knew of what you did? Don't bother, Michael. You'll only get hurt. I will take care of you.'_

And now here that same father was, presenting him with an unforeseen opportunity.

 _ _"Michael Avery Afton!"__ The man hissed, and Mike ducked his head. "Sorr- yes sir."

Without the time to consider the offer or the intent that might be lurking behind it, Mike half-stumbled down the second floor stairs, pausing at the bottom to quickly tie the laces of his worn kicks before flying out the front door and to his father's purple Dodge.

William left him to wait outside for a few minutes, another one of the methods he employed to show Michael that _he_ dictated the household's pace. Eventually, Will did stride out the door as well, his work suitcase in hand, and one of his suit jackets neatly buttoned over his regular clothes. Even only half-done up, he was almost the picture of poise, something Mike knew he would never match. His father was so exact and able, it was really no wonder Mike disappointed him so.

Michael had learned quickly that questioning his father was an incredibly foolish thing to do. He really wanted to know more about the specifics of this offer, and why William even came to _him_ of all people, but he knew better than to actually ask.

The drive was quiet, and neither man bothered to interact in any way. Although the powerful engine of the Challenger rumbled proudly and provided some noise, William had consciously left the radio off. Mike hated the constant surveillance and tests, but he had to be strong and just push past it all. What father wanted was to get some sort of rise out of him, to prove himself right in thinking of his son as a dangerous person. At this age, Michael could very well face being kicked out of the home. He knew he was monstrous, but he had no idea how he would cope without a guiding hand. However strict and unpleasant his father's was, he couldn't lose that.

The journey felt like it just went on forever, and Michael couldn't help but let his right hand drift up to fidget with a loose thread in one of the seams in his turtleneck. William often chastised him for his nervous habits, and lo and behold -

 _"Stop that,"_ The man muttered curtly, needing nothing but a quick glance to know his son was fretting. Jerking his hand away from the thread, Michael resigned himself to looking out the window instead.

Turns out that was a mistake too. _"Don't pout like a toddler."_ William swiftly complained. Mike wanted to sigh, let his frustration and tiredness be heard, but _that_ would most certainly bring even more trouble than it was worth.

The rest of the ride was torturous. Michael truly felt like the tension could cut him. There he was, sat almost ram-rod straight, ready at any moment to heed a new command - _roll down the window, unlock your door, _jump out of the car__ \- or to listen to any fresh complaint leveled against him.

At long last though, the purple Dodge rolled to a stop behind Freddy's. The location didn't really have an employee parking lot, but William had reserved this dark alley behind the building for himself, to keep his car out of the public's sight.

 _"Watch the door when you open it,"_ William warned. Michael obviously knew how to open a car door without carelessly smashing it into something, but clearly his father still felt that the reminder was warranted.

When Lizzie did it that one time, she only got a brief time-out and had her pocket money withheld for one week. Michael dreaded to think of what his father would do to _him_ if he committed the same sin.

Suppressing a yawn, Mike slipped _extra carefully_ out of his father's prized vehicle. William flicked out his bundle of keys, locked his car, and then lead the way forth into the Freddy's building. Michael knew the basics of the layout, and had learned more about the backstage area than a random customer's kid would, but he still had questions. Questions he couldn't ask his father, of course. _Where had Fredbear gone? How was Freddy's financially? Was the other golden animatronic still in use?_

_"I'm sure you are wondering,"_ William spoke, breaking the silence as he paused and faced Mike. _"Why I asked you come here with me."_

Asked? _In my dreams_ , Mike thought.

He knew his father expected something from him. No questions, no hesitation or thoughts of his own. No, instead he wanted his son to perfectly parrot the reason he had given, to make the young man prove that he had paid attention. Trying his best not to let his enduring confusion be audible, Michael repeated exactly the words William had used. Barring the unnecessary 'off your arse' comment, of course.

"Freddy's needs new employees and spots aren't filling up fast enough."

The slow nod of approval he received helped Mike slacken his tense shoulders somewhat. Seemingly satisfied with the simple test, William walked on ahead, gesturing for his son to follow.

 _"You haven't been to the new and improved Freddy's much, but you know the mascots."_ Will resumed speaking. Mike did know the new entertainers, though after what he caused, the magic of animatronics had definitely worn off for him.

His father didn't give him the opportunity to respond in the affirmative, and Michael predicted that. He knew better than to risk talking over William. _"Freddy Fazbear, Bonnie the Bunny, Chica the Chicken, and Foxy the Pirate. Besides these, we have retained Fuzzhare as a back-up mascot, should one of the core four be out of order."_

That caught Mike off guard. Briefly forgetting himself, he looked up at his father. "Uh- The company kept Fuzzhare around after what happ-"

 _"Yes,"_ William replied matter-of-factly, cutting off his son without a moment's hesitation. _"we kept him after what _you did."__

Mentally backing down from what could otherwise be the start of a confrontation, Mike nodded mutely and didn't question the business' decision like he wished to.

_"Fredbear had to be destroyed. There was nothing wrong with the mechanics when we ran tests, so it had to have been something you did, but we couldn't possibly re-introduce him to our scarred patrons."_

The tone William used was almost _mournful_ , and that for the machine that had so brutally maimed his youngest, badly enough in fact to have the boy declared dead on arrival to the hospital.

William had made sure not to spare Michael the details when he had brought him along.

Figuratively shaking off the numbing mental blanket that always accompanied the memory, Michael pulled himself back to the present. Father would be angry if his son seemed disinterested.

They next stopped in front of the stage, and William checked his watch. _"Fourty-one minutes until your shift begins."_

An icy chill went down Michael's spine. Shift? Before any training? Scared to awaken William's ire, he kept quiet.

_"No questions or complaints? Good. I will give you a rundown of what your first shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza will bring, and what Fazbear Entertainment Incorporated expects from you. I recommend you listen closely."_

William waited for a nod, and Mike silently gave him one, knowing it was his best option.

 _"Very well."_ The man replied, walking over to the stage to lay down and open his suitcase. Taking a clipboard full of printed lists from within, he handed it to Michael. _"In the coming week, you will try working several different shifts, after which I will deliberate with the board over which duties suit you best. You will take tonight's night watch, in place of our regular nightguard. The first document lists all of your tasks."_

Mike was more than ready to read through his instructions himself, but William clearly had other plans. As Michael silently scanned every bullet point, his father began to rattle off everything he was already taking in by himself.

William's voice was almost monotone as he went down the list without even having to see it. _"You are to watch for, one: criminal activity within and just outside the premises. Two: system faults in the security system, such as static or camera blackouts. Three: incorrect conduct of other night-shift employees…"_

Then, he plowed on ahead with reading out the small text accompanying almost every line. _"Call the company line only if absolutely necessary, and lock the door to the office if you become aware of a dangerous situation."_

William paused and lifted a finger, then, to stipulate what must be a particularly important point. Waiting for Michael to catch up, he spoke slowly, like one would to a toddler saying a word wrong. _"-Under no circumstances are you to contact police, _Michael."__

Mike wanted to question that, he truly did, but he knew better than to take the bait. Instead he nodded mutely, thus indicating for William to continue.

_"Good. Do not leave the office before the end of your shift. Do not attempt to repair any faulty system as you'll likely only make it worse. Write a comprehensible report of any technical problem, including an approximation of the nature of the problem and the time at whence the issue arose, to submit to Fazbear technicians. Do not interact with other nightly employees unless danger is present. Always leave the security office in an acceptable state of cleanliness. Write a brief report of the night's events before clocking out at 6 A.M, and leave this report on the office desk."_

William stopped talking, though not for long. Not even waiting for Michael to finish reading the document, he spoke up again. _"Am I understood? These will be your duties for tonight."_

"Yes, sir," Mike answered obediently, holding out the clipboard for William to take back. His father shook his head though. _"Keep that with you, for when you forget."_

The sureness in his father's voice stung, as it always did when William reminded his son of how little faith he had in his skills. Even so, all Michael could do was accept the scorn, and do his absolute best.

 _"Come,"_ William spoke again, making the metal latches of his suitcase shut with two clear snaps. _"it's time to see your work site."_

Michael followed behind him again, mellow as a sheep even with the unanswered questions still going around his head. The creaking of the wooden office door almost made him cringe as William guided him in, and for a moment, they were in darkness.

Mike was acutely _afraid_ , wondering if they really were in the security office. His father had terrified him plenty over the years, and being isolated from the rest of the world with only that man for company now made him shiver.

Was this it? The day Michael was finally getting the punishment he deserved?

The lights flickered on then, and they revealed the night guard's little kingdom. Flipping all the right switches with practiced grace, William activated the monitors. They buzzed to life with brief static, the numbers and concise area designations helping to identify their exact placements.

 _"Here you have it, your very own station."_ William announced, rotating the cheap office chair and gesturing for Michael to get settled in.

With no choice but to seat himself, Mike obeyed. Laying the clipboard with instructions down beside the dual monitors, he peeked through the camera feeds. Freezing in place at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, he waited for his father to speak. The man in question brought his face closer to that of his son's, and pointed at the various feeds with his other hand, effectively caging him in.

_"Party rooms one and two here, on opposing sides, don't get them mixed up. The kitchen is here, that's the customer entryway, Foxy's Pirate Bay, the main mascot stage, and finally parts and service. Just keep track of things, make sure nobody is sneaking around, and make notes if any cameras give you grief."_

_The only thing giving me real grief is you_ , Michael found himself thinking. William would crucify him if he ever told his father as much.

Will had this infantilizing habit of spelling out the obvious for Mike. Just as he could have read and understood the instructions handed to him, he could figure out these cameras perfectly fine. His father had no trust in his abilities at all.

Michael wanted to ask several new questions - _What am I supposed to do if someone breaks in when you say I can't call the police? Is there no camera closer to the office, or pointed at the back exit? Doesn't the lack of them leave dark spots in security?_ \- but clearly William would have none of it. Blatantly ignoring the hand Mike silently raised to get his attention, his father backed away instead.

_"Your shift officially begins in two minutes, but go over your instructions once or twice more before you start, and familiarize yourself with the cameras. Good luck."_

With those final words, he shut the door. A few minutes later, Michael could hear the tell-tale rumble of the Dodge Challenger's engine, a sound which quickly faded away into the quiet.

Mike wondered if father would even pick him up after his shift, or if he'd need to walk home. Those worries were better left for future Michael, he decided.


	2. Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael deals with his first night shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, and meets a small part of the Freddy's team. After work comes time at home, but at the Afton household, peace is never really an option.

The sudden solitude was almost distressing, which Michael found… odd. He usually preferred to be left alone, and it was so rare for him to be in a position of control. By all means, he should have been thriving.

Quickly getting the hang of his camera system in spite of his lingering unease, Mike flicked through the views. Freddy's was honestly kind of fucking _creepy_ at night, when all the colourful lights were off. It frankly would not surprise him in the slightest if this was where his father squirreled away all manner of dark family secrets to which Michael _wasn't_ privy.

He had his very own little black mark anyway, and if Freddy's was where that secret slept, he wasn't going to wake it.

His eyes roved slowly over the fuzzy image of the main stage. He wasn't even sure how long he'd be here, and he still wanted to know what caused his dad's brief change of heart. If Michael still displeased him so, why drag him into the light by bringing him to his workplace?

Something shifted in the miniature of another camera view, and Mike peeked at it. A figure appeared from somewhere off-screen in Party Room two, a broom in hand, flashlight in the other, and a trolley behind him. Ah, one of the janitors. William and his business partner left most of the cleaning to be done by night, in order to keep the cleaning materials out of the freeroaming mascots' ways during open hours. Moisture damage was a big worry with the animatronics.

Bored, Mike changed the screen of the main monitor to the one where he saw the movement, and made the camera scroll to the side, following the janitor. He was pretty sure this was… Steve? "The guy who likes to clean stuff"... That was how Henry Emily had introduced him when a much littler Mike had inadvertently stumbled into a supply closet where Steve was prepping his janitorial concoctions. The guy had been with Fazbear Entertainment since Fredbear's Family Diner, and the work had to bring in a pretty dollar for him to want to stick around for _Freddy's_ instead of moving the Hell on with his life like a normal person would.

The camera's movement had to have caught Steve's attention, because he looked up and then waved at it. The party room cams didn't seem to have audio devices, so Michael couldn't hear the words the man mouthed. He could read his father's lips quite well, but Steve's flabby mouth made his words hard to interpret, and the bright contrast of the flashlight didn't help. He seemed happy, though. Maybe the usual nightguard was his friend?

Another camera's automatic motion drew his attention back to the stage, and an involuntary bout of gooseflesh sprung up on his arms. He liked Bonnie and Freddy well enough, and Foxy was his favourite of these four mascots, but he'd never warmed up to one… Chica the Chicken, with that big beak full of teeth. Every kid knew chickens didn't fucking have _teeth_ , so what was the deal with her design? Had dad smoked some nasty pot while designing her?

She was unnerving, especially in the dark. A lone stripe of a car's headlights glided over the bird animatronic, and the shadows playing around those many teeth didn't help Mike's anxious jitters any.

"Act like a man, God-dammit." He cursed to himself. As composed as he otherwise always was, dad would probably _piss himself laughing_ if he knew that his eighteen-year old son was scared of a fucking chicken robot. Michael would never live that down.

Forcing down the unpleasant feelings brought on by the animatronic, Mike flipped on through the other cams on the main monitor. Steve continued on his merry way from party room one down the hall to Foxy's cove, and Michael was content to leave him in his little dream world of scraping pizza sauce stains out of the pirate animatronic's story stage.

Mike snuck a peek at the clock, and sighed, slow and suffering.

_01:09 A.M._

Yawning with a slow, extended stretch, he flopped a little lazily back into his chair. This was such a bore…

.

Well, if dad decided to hire him for anything at Freddy's, Mike felt like night guard duty would be an easy fit. Nothing of note really happened all night, barring the two times one of the several cams had crapped out on him a little later into the night. He had written both events up in a neat manner he hoped William would approve of, and nothing else interesting had presented itself.

He had just been doodling a second Foxy head on an unused printout of the night report paper, when the door handle to his office rattled behind him.

Scrambling to scrunch up the paper, Mike bolted upright and turned his chair, not expecting anyone but his father.

What he got instead was a surprise, though it really shouldn't have been. As Freddy's other co-owner, this man was frequently on-site as well, though he did a lot of work at the secondary location too. "Morning, Michael." Henry said, stepping into the small office. He was considerably more bulky than Michael, dominating the space with his mere presence.

"Morning, mister Emily," Mike replied, not bothering with faking some joy that wasn't there. It was no secret that his bond with Henry had soured with time, which was another big reason he felt mostly indifferent about the family business now. It didn't help that William frequently complained that Henry didn't take Freddy's seriously enough, and rambled about how the man _should have just bought up full ownership of Fredbear's before it got rebranded, if he really loved it so damn much._ Mike could frankly understand his frustrations. To Michael, Henry was weak-willed, and yet he was also resistant to change at the worst of times, which meant that he was not great at standing his ground when he should, and otherwise too slow to keep up. An obstacle, more than an aid. William could deal with it, but Michael feared he would stumble over Henry's uselessness if he was put in charge.

At the question of how his night went, he shrugged, giving no clue of what he was _really_ thinking about. "Nothing too exciting. But hey, isn't that how we'd like to keep it?"

Henry chuckled amicably with a light nod. "That's right. It would be rather worrisome if Freddy started throwing parties after closing."

_Ugh, don't even try joking with me like we're buddies._

.

With a quick debriefing, Henry sent Michael back on his way. Clueless as to whether his dad would even be here to pick him up, Mike sauntered back to the rear exit of the building. And sure enough, there was the man himself, talking to another familiar employee by the door.

 _"Ah, Michael."_ William opened, scarcely meeting his son's eyes. _"I take it Henry already checked in on you?"_

Mike nodded, preferring to use silent or very simple responses while he carefully gauged his father's mood.

"How was it to play night guard, kid?" The other, slightly older man spoke with mirth, and Michael gave another small shrug.

"It went fine, sir." He answered easily. "Cameras got a little weird once or twice, but nothing I couldn't handle. They went back to normal after about a minute, just a bit of excessive static. I wrote up a note for both events." Scratching the back of his head, he offered an awkward grin. "'m not really a kid anymore, by the way."

The guy smiled and offered a quick 'sorry, sorry'. "Time just goes by so fast, you know? Last time I saw you this up close you were 14. Remember me, ol' Ricky? You don't come to Freddy's much."

Mike smiled politely in return, knowing his father would be monitoring his son for proper etiquette as he made small talk with Freddy's veteran night guard. "Of course I remember, mister Torres. It's been a while since we've talked. I hope you'll be pleased with my trial night's report if you want to look at it."

As proper as he wanted to be, Michael couldn't fully repress the worn yawn that snuck up on him. Torres chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, before passing him to presumably go meet with Henry in the office and discuss the newbie's performance.

Once Rick was out of earshot, William tsk-ed softly at his child's expression of exhaustion. _"Go on home if you need the rest, though I'd really hoped to keep you here to have you demonstrate your camera skill before we open for the day."_

Oh boy. Fighting down his body's next attempt to yawn, Michael bowed his head submissively. "I'm sorry sir, I really am quite tired."

William huffed in displeasure, but held something big out to his son. _"Here, take this umbrella, the weather wasn't too pleasant this morning. Don't dare lose it. And be ready for tomorrow, you'll be sharing the nightly cleanup with mister Morrison."_

Ah. Seems the next night would have him joining Steve in his kingdom of table boogers, discarded pop cans, and stale pizza smell. Knowing that it was futile to protest, Michael just agreed to it. Taking the umbrella, he shuffled mutely past his father and out of the door.

 _As if he'd give you a ride home. He's got more important things to do._ His inner voice chastised.

.

Opening the umbrella into the wind to prevent it from immediately being dragged away from him, Michael started on the way home. It had been fairly warm earlier in the week, but it was cold out here in the rain, the morning so young that the dawn was only just starting to push its' way past the horizon. The clock had read 6 A.M when Henry had arrived, so Mike expected to be home at around half-past six.

The umbrella tried its' best, but the backs of Michael's legs quickly grew wet. A few hard-to-spot puddles in the pavement left him with soaked sneakers and socks, and the bottoms of his pants legs quickly suffered the same fate as falling rainwater splashed up at his ankles. Lacking a coat, the rain easily chilled the skin of his back. He was damn tired and his feet were icy as he trudged home, but the walk wasn't too far at least.

Thankfully, father at least thought him _just_ responsible enough to have a house key. At the door, he stopped. Something hanging off the side of the steel rubbish bin next to the entrance had caught his attention. Lifting the lid, he was dismayed to find the turtleneck he had been repairing with the new seams torn out, the article obviously discarded like trash.

_While he was away from home, his father had-_

.

Mike wanted to run into the home to check on his room, but William would kill him if he tracked water into the house. Fighting to take off his waterlogged shoes and socks and closing the door before shimmying off his jeans, he hurried up the stairs.

The door into his bedroom was ajar, and upon rushing in, he found Elizabeth going through stuff thrown up onto his bed.

 **"Get out of my room!"** He shouted heatedly, in disbelief at her audacity. She screamed back at him, clutching one of the plushies Mike had carefully hidden from his father for years. _"Why are your pants off?! Gross!"_

Michael grimaced and pulled her away from his bedside, pushing her to the doorway. **"OUT. OF. MY. ROOM! AND GIVE ME THAT!"**

When he reached to take back his yellow Fredbear plush, Lizzie stubbornly turned away to avoid it being grabbed. _"No! He's mine!"_

**"LIZZIE!"**

He really wanted that bear back, no, _needed_ it. William would mock him relentlessly if he found out it belonged to his son. And if he knew of _one_ plush, father would most certainly start searching for the rest. Mike had tucked away each plush with extreme care, in places he didn't expect William to look.

Elizabeth was determined, though, and she bolted at his next attempt to steal back the bear.

Before giving chase, Michael quickly changed into warmer clothes. He was still chilly to the bone, and shaking not just from the cold but from his rage, too. Racing up the stairs to her room, he found her bedroom locked. **"Elizabeth! Give me that!"** He shouted, beating at her door, but his sister refused to unlock it.

_"Nu-uh! Daddy said I could pick one! It's mine now!" She yelled back._

Michael's breath caught. Could it be… Father already knew? Kneeling at the door, he tried another way instead. "Please, Lizzie? Please give me my Plushbear back. I've had him for so long. It's all I have left of Jerry."

Silence again. Then his sister's voice came in reply, her tone dismissive. _"Yeah, you had him a long time! Now he's mine! Jerry wouldn't want **you** to have him, anyway."_

He remained silent, the words sinking in like a nasty stinger. Even at twelve years, Elizabeth could be venomous if she wanted to be. Making his way back down the stairs, Mike stopped to glare back up at the locked door, stunned to see the shallow imprint of one of his fists in the smoothed wood. Father would never miss something like that…

 _Your anger is so very troublesome, you can't just lash out like a rabid dog,_ William's imaginary words already chastised, floating around Michael's head. Defeated, he tugged his bedroom door shut, knowing there would be consequences for his outburst. His sister was absolutely going to tattle.

This was new. Elizabeth rarely ever went so far as to invade his room, and she'd never stolen anything more than pencils before. Moreover, like damn near everybody else at Freddy's, she preferred to act like Jerry had never existed. It was odd for her to acknowledge him, much less use him as leverage against Mike.

And then, she said father had told her to _pick one_ , meaning he'd absolutely encouraged her. Even in his own bedroom, Michael wasn't totally safe. Sorrowfully going through his clothing drawers, he found a few more of his most worn-out turtlenecks missing. He found a blue post-it on top of one stack, reading _"No ratty clothes!"_ on it, in his father's perfect handwriting. One more below it had another lovely message for him. _"I will not be associated with a young man who dresses like his life's aspiration is to be mistaken for a bum."_

Mike truly felt caught in a lose-lose predicament. He didn't have the cash to buy enough clothes to replace everything that was worn out now, and his dad throwing out the clothes he was displeased with only lessened his son's options.

.

Thankfully, Michael at least found his favourite turtleneck, a dark green one with a really warm collar. Pulling it on over his other shirt, he went through his room collecting his favourite plushies. A few of them were displaced, meaning that either William or Elizabeth herself had found them, and Mike knew he'd need to find more hiding places.

He was so tired…

Laying his plush friends on his bed, he flicked on his old TV. It was the only electronic device that was fully his, and it was what he most often turned to when he needed to calm down. He had a collection of VHS tapes containing episodes of _"Thunderbirds"_ , a 10th birthday gift to him from family back in England whom he no longer had contact with. He only possessed a few loose episodes from several different seasons, and he could by now recite the plot of each from start to finish, but watching them still helped.

Seeing Thunderbird 2 be called into action was what he liked best, and so he inserted the VHS containing his favourite episode. Holding one of his Foxy plushies close to him with one hand, he fixed the bunched collar of his green turtleneck with the other. Green and wonderful, just like Thunderbird 2. That machine was so mighty and versatile, able to provide so many different ways to save the day by hauling the exact rescue vehicles that the Tracy brothers needed. If Michael could be anyone, he wanted to be Virgil Tracy, piloting trusty Thunderbird 2. The pride of his family, always ready for any situation.

The triumphant theme tune was one of the best sounds he knew, and he was more than happy to get lost in the fictional future of the show. He felt he deserved a little comfort.

Getting settled in to let his favourite series lull him to sleep, he thought of how much he hated this Afton family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I have a dark green turtleneck that reminds me of Thunderbird 2. I've had it since I was little, and though it's small on me now, I'm very attached to it.


	3. No safe haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pissed off over Mike's outburst towards his sister, William steps in with a quick lesson. Michael finds out the hard way that lashing out too strongly may very well be what kills him.
> 
> At least he gets to let his frustrations out by scrubbing the hell out of some pizza stains the next night?
> 
> TW for some physical abuse and an implied death threat at the start.

Even the several hours of uninterrupted sleep he got could not prepare him for father's wrath. 

He was rudely awoken by William storming into his room. Instinct kicked in and he clutched his plushes - some of his favourite possessions - close, determined not to let them be taken.

His father couldn't care less for the toys. No, he went straight for Michael's neck, fingers clamping 'round his throat as the taller man pushed his son down to the bedcovers.

 _"Have I not told you this enough?"_ William hissed, squeezing his fingers tighter as Mike drug himself from his half-sleep haze, a whimper just making it past his father's sure grip. _"You killed your own brother,"_ William recited, _"-and now you've threatened to hurt Elizabeth. I truly dread to think of what you would have done to her had she not locked her door. You are a twisted child... It's exactly as I always told you. You wouldn't want to be arrested now, would you? They'd never let someone like **you** out. Gone are the days where you'd go to juvie and get a slap on the wrist for taking my little boy away from me."_

The hand stayed where it was a moment longer, and the fury burning in father's eyes told Mike all he needed to know. His dad wouldn't be afraid to end him if he truly went too far.

Black edges formed around his vision and his eyelashes fluttered as he writhed, breathless. _Was_ this going to be the end of him? William stared wordlessly at him for a moment longer, before relinquishing his hold at the sound of a tiny voice.

"Daddy?"

Michael coughed and sucked air into his desperate lungs, just catching a glimpse of Elizabeth's wide-eyed stare into the room, her gaze tilted up at their father.

 _"Elizabeth."_ William replied gently, all the danger flowing from him, arms slacking at his sides. _"Do not worry, sweetheart."_ He assured. _"Your brother had a lesson to learn, and I gave him it. Do not ever let him mess with you, okay?"_

Mike could see tears brimming in his sister's eyes, but something in him pushed down his pity for her.

She deserves it. _Fucking cry, dad's gonna love that. You can't be his perfect little princess forever._

"O-okay," She whispered, her hands clutching at her nightshirt. Kneeling, William wiped some of the moisture away from her eyes. _"Shhhh, sweetie. Daddy would never let him hurt you. I won't hurt you. You're not the same."_

Michael tuned them out as father soothed his sibling and decided to pretend that his son no longer existed, even as the young man still struggled to make his heart stop beating out of his chest.

William encouraged Lizzie away from the room and down the stairs with the promise of a treat, and paused in the doorway of Mike's bedroom once they were left alone.

_"I expect you to be at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria tonight. If I find you did not show for your shift, I will take it you reject my offer of employment. Do not worry, Michael. It should be hard for even you to do any worse than you've done today."_

Michael kept as straight a face he could and gave a silent nod, waiting for the door to close and then listening out for the slow footfalls down the stairs before breaking down.

He had no choice. He needed that money if he wanted to get out of here.

Steve had a separate trolley ready for him when Mike arrived that night, the janitor rolling it his way with a small smile.

"Eyyy, Mikes. With me tonigh, huh? Boss told me it was you on the cams last time. How was night-guarding?"

Michael tugged his turtleneck of choice higher around his neck. If anyone saw the bruising, questions would certainly be raised to his father, and being made to lie about his eldest always put the man in a dour mood.

"It was fine," Mike replied flatly. "Watching you scrub at weird stains was about the most interesting thing to go down."

Steve laughed and sauntered over to pat Michael on the back. "Well, time for me to introduce you to the _thrills_ of cleaning up Freddy's, then! Let's get started! Your trolley's got its' own company-provided flashlight, 'cause the bosses turn out most of the building's lights to save a buck."

The two of them began at the main stage. "'S usually the nastiest room," Steve explained to him, plucking a slice of stale pizza from Chica the Chicken's toothy beak to provide an example. Mike's neck hair stood on end again at the sight, in spite of knowing the mascots were very much deactivated at night.

"Don't like her, huh? Not my favourite either," Morrison told him with a chuckle. "I actually quite like Fuzzhare, even though that old man's rarely up and about anymore."

Michael nodded at the second comment. He'd seen Fuzzhare active at Freddy's only a handful of times, and exclusively in suit mode, being worn either by his father or an entertainer carried over from Fredbear's Family Diner.

"I liked him, back in the day," He muttered as he swept some glitter and beads from under a party table.

Steve hummed. "You've seen the worst side of those old things, huh? I saw the aftermath of it. Was told to clean off Fredbear, but management deemed it a lost cause when-"

 _"Stop."_ Michael blurted. "-Just, stop, please."

The janitor sucked in his lips in an instant, and offered a pitying glance, which Mike rejected by turning his head away He didn't want _pity_ , he just wanted people to forget what had happened.

Why was it so easy for his father?

Michael didn't know if Steve had been made aware that the very same person who had killed the youngest Afton child that day, was currently his temporary co-cleaner. The inner circle of Freddy's knew, but the police had not been told, and there was that unspoken agreement not to let the secret travel.

"Well... Hope you're not afraid to get close to our robot friends here, they usually wind up with all manner of leftovers smeared on 'em."

Better to pretend the exchange they had just gone through never happened. Mike gladly accepted the offer to change the subject, and followed Morrison up onto the stage. Standing at the purple bunny's side, he tweaked one of Bonnie's whiskers.

He liked this one, too.

After some time cleaning the stage room as a team, Steve suggested splitting up. He would take party room one, Mike number two. Before parting, Michael asked him what he'd wondered for a while.

"Why'd you stay with Fazbear? Is the pay that good?"

Steve shook his head with a small smile. "The pay is nothing grand, sorry to break your heart. Nostalgia's my reason, I guess. And the free visits once a month. I'm here mostly for my son, yanno? He loves this place, and dedicated employees get first pick with new merch. My boy has a closet full of Freddy's shirts."

 _Geeze, that's kinda sad_ , Mike thought. _Stuck at a dead-end job for a kid who will grow out of the Mascot Magic and cheap plastic junk in the coming years, anyhow._

"There's one more thing though," Steve spoke up again. "But you gotta promise me you won't tattle, _Afton._ "

That he could do. Getting told on by others put him in a bad situation, and knowing that, he wouldn't be a snitch to possibly fuck somebody else over. "My lips are sealed, Steve."

Steve gave a hearty chuckle, and dug around for something in his pocket. Pulling it out, he revealed a silver bracelet to Mike. "This isn't all that impressive, but you wouldn't be-liiieve the shit people lose here. Other jewerly, cash, even whole shirts and pairs of shoes. I see it as a little extra pay, even if the bosses don't know it."

Michael quirked a brow. "But mister Torres, the nightguard-"

"Ah, I got an agreement with 'im. We've been best buds for years now, and he's always happy to turn a blind eye. He keeps the night reports spotless for me."

At that, Mike couldn't help but grin back. Envy burned hotly in his bones as he replied wistfully. "Must be great, having friends like that. I've only got people who see it as their life's duty to bring me down."

The janitor almost gave Mike that pitying look again, but seemed to think better of it. "Your father doesn't know, buddy? No matter, Ricky and I will be your pals. Here, you take this, give it to your sister."

Sweat started on the back of Mike's neck. _Father is one of them_ , he wanted to tell the man. Even with his trepidation, he took the offered bracelet, and promptly chuckled. "Oh, she won't want this."

At Morrison's questioning look, Mike decided to play a bit.

Pitching his voice a little femininely, he imitated her in a mocking manner. "Elizabeth _Ariel Afton_ only wears **_gold~_** "

Steve couldn't help the full belly-laugh he let out. "Geeze, she sounds like a brat. She pampered?"

"Oh, _yes._ " Michael replied with a huff. "Always dad's precious princess. I fear she may one day start demanding money from me for daring to still live in the same house as her."

Michael handed the bracelet back to Steve with the request he pawn it for cash, and the janitor gave the young man a fond shoulder squeeze before they started cleaning up the separate party rooms.

The rest of the night was uneventful, and Mike felt much less drowsy than he had been after his unprepared shift as the night guard. He double-checked the line of bruises by feeling around the skin, and hoped that the lessening of the painful sensation meant the bruising was healing.

Just before they were due to clock out, Steve caught him touching at the collar of his turtleneck. Michael hurriedly pulled his hand away at the sound of his coworker's voice, knowing he'd been caught.

"You okay, buddy?" The older man asked. Mike turned and gave him a small nod. "Yeah, thank you. I think a gnat may have bit me? Fuckers get extra bold at night."

Seemingly convinced by the quick lie, Steve uh-hum'd and returned to collecting his items to stow them back on his trolley. Mike mutely followed his example, smiling as the janitor gave him another shoulder pat, stealthily slipping him two scrounged-up five-dollar bills before rolling the pair of trolleys away.

Michael's father didn't even bother to check up on him this morning, and so he went home after talking to Henry about how he had fared. It was Sunday now, and a big mascot show was scheduled for early in the evening, at a birthday party.

Mike had disdain for the work Steve did. Being the designated cleaner just felt like such a low, prideless position to hold, but he did feel like he finally had an ally of some kind.

Back home, it was a different story. The sun shone early this morning, but he felt none of its' warmth indoors. William usually only went to Freddy's towards the midday hour, when the establishment had more visitors. This meant that he was in all likelihood still somewhere in the house. Elizabeth was sat alone in the living room and pretended not to have noticed her brother come in, but her brief glances told him she was in fact watching him closely.

Ascending the stairs to his own room, he called down to her. "Dad in his workshop?"

A small "Yeah..." Came as his answer while he hobbled to the first floor bathroom to rinse off, his current turtleneck switched out for a clean one. Something must have caught on the fabric while he'd cleaned last night, because there was a tiny tear in the side of the piece he'd worn. He'd have to sew it well and hide the piece until he could find a good moment to fix it up, knowing now that his father was quite prepared to throw out clothes that could still be repaired.

He visually checked over the line of bruises on his neck, and found them to be a bit more noticable than he'd hoped. Tugging the collar of his clean turtleneck up high, he bundled the other and returned to his bedroom to hide it somewhere.

His room was still as he'd left it. His plushes a mess on the bed, exactly where he'd dumped them when William had gone for his throat. The shape of his own body was still on the bedsheets and the VHS tape was left slotted into the TV set.

Mike had spent the time he had between father's lesson and his next shift mostly sat mutely on the floor of his room. He had fled into the bathroom and locked it when he'd heard William go back upstairs to get ready for bed, and he hadn't come out until he heard the master bedroom door lock shut. Father rarely slept late, and he'd would always occupy himself with his own TV or his blueprints after making Lizzie go to bed.

A pang of hunger reminded Mike that he hadn't even eaten yet. Oh well, it could wait.

Setting his mind on something different, he picked up his two Foxy plushies, and grimaced.

_You are only going to give me more trouble._

He really didn't want to do it, but Elizabeth would have no reason to come in here and steal his plushies if she thought he didn't _have_ any. The Fazbear Entertainment-branded plushie could be returned to the location to find a new owner, and the cheap knockoff could be thrown away with the rest of his unlabeled toys.

Tears brimmed in his eyes at the thought, but it was for the sake of his survival. If Elizabeth's thievery wasn't going to be the last straw, dad's mockery certainly could be. Will hadn't even _mentioned_ the plushies, but it was clear to both of his kids that he did not like Michael having them. And the strong hands around his neck had told Mike that he should start getting rid of the things dad didn't want in his room.

It would hurt, and Michael feared he'd have to kill some part of himself in order to make it through, but once out he knew he would learn to _thrive._

He'd be far away from this place, and able to start fresh.

Staying in his bedroom to collect those plushies he felt the least attached to, he left the same Thunderbirds tape to play again as welcome background noise. Selecting who to toss and who to keep out of his small hoard of toys was a tear-wrenching ordeal, but he thinned the herd by five in one go. If William continued to hunt for his fluffy belongings, he'd choose a few more to throw out or give away, and he'd do it until he had father convinced they were _all_ gone.

Mike didn't want to give his plush friends to Elizabeth. On one hand, it would raise suspicion, and on the other, he felt like it would be a traitorous thing to do to his inanimate friends. It would be telling his sister _"Hey, last time you stole something that was dear to me, you upset me so bad that I've decided to **give up.** Have these, and please come snatch away whatever else your greedy little heart desires."_

There was no way in Hell he'd ever voluntarily give something up to her like that.

When his hunger became a gnawing ache, he rose from where he was on the floor. He bagged the five plushies he was throwing away, and then headed on downstairs to eat something. Rummaging through the sparse fridge, he grabbed the milk and just poured himself some cereal. Better than nothing.

"Tell dad we need fruit," He muttered in his sister's direction. "And the leafy greens have gone bad, I'm taking them out of the fridge."

She didn't reply to him, so he jotted the two items down on a post-it and hung it on the fridge.

After eating, he went back upstairs to hide the survivors of the purge, before catching some hours of sleep. While tossing and trying to drift off, he wondered what job dad would have him working next, and grit his teeth at the idea of being stuck on cleaning duty, because William was _absolutely_ petty like that. Best not to let him know that Mike had hated cleaning the child-ravaged party rooms.

He got a few good hours of sleep, but found himself rudely awoken one more time. The method employed to rouse him was an unusual one, though. Father had actually *knocked* on his door. He hadn't waited to be welcomed in of course, but it was... Better than what Mike was accustomed to.

 _"Come on, out of bed you get."_ William's voice muttered at his side. _"We could use an extra pair of hands at Freddy's for the birthday party tonight."_

Michael groaned and sat himself upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Dad was being... Strangely quiet. Almost gentle. His entry had been the usual brash way, but nothing about him screamed _I might want to hurt you._

Mike saw the blurry shape of something being held out to him. Reaching a shaky hand out, he found the item to be soft but sturdy to the touch. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he studied it closer.

"Huh? A uniform?"

William took a few steps back, his eyes regarding his son coolly, giving nothing away. _"Yes, a uniform. I had one reserved from Freddy's in your size, and spent hours making alterations to the design to help you feel comfortable wearing it."_

The ease with which he said that stunned Michael. Father _never_ just did things for the _comfort_ of his eldest. Unfolding the item, Michael silently marveled. The Freddy Fazbear's Pizza employee overall was still mostly as he knew it to be, but for one part that had the young man smiling despite the situation.

Sown around the neck opening of the flexible, simplistic work attire, was the collar of a turtleneck. William's alteration wasn't a very neat one, but to Mike, it was the thought that counted. Besides, he wouldn't dare tell dad that his gift could be made better.

Father had brought him this, _made_ it for him and _only_ him.

Barely thinking, Michael just grinned dumbly and held it close to him. Evidently done waiting, William sighed softly. _"Get dressed and meet me downstairs, we'll only stay for the duration of the party."_

He didn't await a reply, walking calmly down the stairs to the ground floor. Desperate not to disappoint in the face of this blessing, Mike hurriedly went to wash his pits in the bathroom and dressed himself, taking a brief moment to marvel at how well the new item fit. Once worn, the stitching attaching the extended collar to the overall actually became difficult to notice. The collar looked more like it was the essential part of a stylistic variant to the original design, than something tacked on by hands more used to working with screws and blueprints than needle and thread.

Tugging the turtleneck collar up, Mike found it fitting snugly under his jaw, not too tight nor too floppy. It made him feel _safe_ , and moreover, it completely hid the marks still dotting his neck.

He practically flew down the flight of stairs, eager to show his dad how well he wore the delightful gift.

William smiled - really smiled - and gestured for his son to follow him out to the car.

Once inside the Dodge for the second time this same week, Michael abruptly realized how odd this all was. A gift, a _smile_. It was so unlike his dad to give him either, much less both. The car's engine rumbled to life, and William guided the luxury vehicle smoothly out of the home's driveway.

Mike didn't dare speak, suddenly terrified this was only a dream he could be woken up from by the slightest disturbance. Scared he could - if it were indeed real - break this precious moment with a stupid misstep of his own volition.

 _"I saw the bag of plush animals,"_ William cut through the silence, his gaze fixed on the road. Warily glancing over to him, Mike noted that his father's eyes had become cold again, just as he was used to them being.

Without a word said between them, the rose-tinted glasses hadn't just slipped off, but shattered altogether.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and William glanced at his son, forcing Michael to reflexively avert his eyes just as he'd learned over the years.

 _"I'm not mad,"_ His father muttered. _"Just disappointed. Face it, Michael. You're not ready yet, the world is a dangerous and unkind place. A few fluffy childrens' toys won't help you last longer out there."_

The soft collar around his neck suddenly felt too tight, but Michael's body continued to breathe even as his thought processes floundered. His father had evidently found the plushies he had been willing to discard, and apparently reached the conclusion that Michael was planning to run away.

Well, not far off the mark, in all fairness. He had just mistaken a necessary sacrifice for rebellion.

 _"Don't worry Michael, there is always room for you here."_ William drawled, doubtlessly well-aware that Mike had nowhere to go if he did run. _"To survive in the wilds of civilization, one needs the means and the smarts with which to make use of the afforded resources. I worry you may not be ready, so I implore you to reconsider."_

Michael, powerless and cornered as the Challenger roared on ahead through a miraculously clear street, merely sat there.

_"Are you really going to reject my generosity? I made changes to that uniform just for you, offered this job only to **you** , and you want my kindness to be wasted?"_

Mike shook his head, but father continued his spiel. _"All the things I have given up to provide for you all... You know what I wanted to do when I was young? Go into acting. Play that character in the movies. Couldn't do that with a young boy needing me at home when Mommy disappeared. This franchise is practically your second home and I worked so very hard for it, but if you **really** want to turn your back on it, I can stop the car right now and let you choose."_

"No," Michael quickly replied. "'m sorry. I'll help out at the party. I really want this job, dad."

William huffed, and left the car at speed as he continued the drive to Freddy's. _"It will only be a three-hour shift Michael, just do what is asked and all will be well."_


	4. Get in the saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike expects his first dayshift to be tougher than it turns out to be, and thanks to his good performance, he successfully lands the job. Now with one metaphorical foot in the door towards independence, he starts connecting with more people.
> 
> Not everyone is thrilled about that.

The remainder of the car ride was as tense as the previous one had been. Michael carefully managed his posture to make it as proper as his father's, and he didn't dare fidget. His brand new uniform had nothing for him to tweak, and he wouldn't actually want to risk causing damage to the gift by picking at something to settle his nerves.

By now he'd figured the gift was actually meant to be an anchor of some kind, something his father could use to metaphorically hold him down. It was such a nice thing to get to wear, and Mike was sure that no job would mean no uniform.

The situation still soured the happy feeling the present had initially given him, but he really didn't want to lose out on this.

Perhaps, if he just did perfectly for this short day shift, father wouldn't loathe him anymore.

.

The dodge came to a halt in the familiar back alley, and both men exited the vehicle. Before granting his son entry to the establishment, William raised a hand to halt him.

_"Your collar is askew. Here, let me help."_

Michael knew his father had to have immediately noticed his slight flinch, but of course those two hands didn't retract to let him fix his uniform by himself, even though he most definitely could do so. Straining not to hold his breath, Mike endured as William fixed his crooked turtleneck, pulling it neatly up around his jaw.

 _"There we are,"_ Father muttered, patting some nonexistant dust from his son's shoulders. _"Now give me your best smile. Freddy's is open and bustling with activity, it's nothing like the nightshifts."_

Michael knew what Freddy's was like when in full swing, he was after all much more familiar with that setting than the eerily quiet nights.

He offered as good a smile he could, manufactured and more than a little nervous. It was exactly the kind of smile someone newly employed in and unfamiliar with customer service would wear.

Father clicked his tongue with a grunt. _"It'll have to do. You'll learn."_

That was an oddly... Gentle judgement. Mike had honestly expected a scolding for his obviously fake smile.

 _"Come, you need to get settled in before the party is in full swing,"_ William urged, opening the door for his son. Eager to please father, Michael went on through without hesitation, and waited up for father to come with.

"If I may ask a few questions, sir?" Mike inquired carefully. He had _countless_ questions, but with time ticking on ahead there was not a chance in hell to ask them all. He'd have to pick carefully.

If William was in the mood to answer questions at all, that was. When it came to Michael, dad rarely tolerated them. The slight nod he got in response as they walked down to the small board room caught him by surprise for that reason, but at least he had his first question ready to go.

"So... Where will I help out? With the party itself, or the stage show that's scheduled?"

At his father's urging, he sat down at the Fazbear Entertainment board table, on one of the unmarked chairs. At the head of the rectangular table stood two more seats side by side, the one reserved for Henry labeled _"Elliot Emily props and party favors"_ , and the one reserved for his father marked with simply _"Afton Robotics"._

Henry's seat was closer to Michael, but he still expected his father to take his own spot. When he took Emily's instead, Mike knew he had to hold his immediate question in. It would only detract from how much useful information he could get, now that he was being given the privilege to ask things.

 _"So, let's very speedily go over your duties, introductions to the rest of the staff will come later."_ William began. _"For tonight, you only need to focus on the party. The stage show you mentioned is **for** that party. Make sure the kids don't wander too far lest they miss the birthday girl's show. Additionally, you are to clear emptied plates and cups out of their way, and when the time comes, to help me when I ask for you."_

That sounded simple enough, although being near to his father for extended periods of time was always a cause for anxiety to Michael.

They would be in a crowded place, fortunately. The public meant safety, and Mike would welcome it.

 _"I take it these tasks need no further explanation?"_ William inquired, and Michael knew to shake his head politely. From how father had rushed him to come along, he knew he should not waste time even accidentally.

_"Excellent. Well, you come off quite ready for your third shift. See to it appearances are not deceiving me."_

And with that, they were off.

.

Michael knew the rhythm of Freddy's quite well. He wasn't as fond of the place as he had once been of Fredbear's, but they worked pretty much the same. He greeted the parents of the birthday girl, and let the bustle of the party dictate a swift pace.

It was a sizable party, so there was plenty to do. The girl's older brother struggled to stay in one place for long, much too busy-bodied to play this waiting game. Michael felt a little weary whenever he had to coax the boy back to his family.

The little guy was nine.

Jerry would have been ten this year, and he would have looked so much like this boy. Mike harbored few positive feelings towards others, but he'd liked his little brother.

He hadn't made his big brother afraid, or envious. He wasn't a jerk. He'd afforded Michael some small illusion of control.

Then Michael had taken it too far.

.

Freddy Fazbear said a few pre-programmed lines, but another voice caught his attention instead.

_"Michael. Back room, **now."**_

He immediately felt goosebumps. Had father been trying to get his attention for long, or was that just Mike expecting the worst again?

Handing a small stack of paper plates off to another employee, he gave them a quick thanks before slipping out to the backroom.

The door was just about to fall shut when he reached it, and inside of that rarely-seen room stood William, the disconnected head of Fuzzhare under one arm.

 _"Finally."_ The man sighed. _"Come, help me into the suit."_

Michael hesitated briefly, but decided that pleasing his father was more important than worrying about his trepidations about doing something new.

Following each of his dad's instructions to the letter, he carefully helped him into the mascot body. Slotting the head securely into place atop the torso, he stepped back.

While Mike obviously had his reservations about the two progenitors of Freddy's now, he couldn't deny the enduring appeal of Fuzzhare. On paper, the animatronic was officially called "Spring Bunny", but that rolled off the tongue rather poorly, and so he and Fredbear had quickly received their actual titles.

In spite of his ever-decreasing presence in the franchise, Fuzzhare was impeccably maintained, in no small part thanks to William's dedication to the only surviving springlock model. Michael didn't doubt that 'Fuzzy' would be completely phased out of the roster someday, but he had the sneaking suspicion that father would refuse to dismantle him after the mascot was retired.

The invention was a clever one, he had to admit. Being able to wear the same suit that could automatically perform in its' animatronic mode ensure there was very minute risk of breaking little kids' immersion in the wonderful world of Freddy's.

After guiding his father through a brief mobility check, Michael watched the hare-man saunter out of the backroom alone.

William was a confident induvidual and had, as far as Mike could recall, always been so. Yet, in the suit, he seemed to gain even more of a spring in his step. Following his father back to the stage room, Michael hung back a bit to continue clearing empty cups and plates while his dad began to perform as Fuzzhare.

He greeted the birthday girl personally, of course wished her a happy eighth birthday, did a few tricks to make sure the kids were all watching, and then gestured up to the stage.

With Henry and a technical assistant providing direct inputs to the trio of main stage animatronics, the mascots seemed to truly come alive, with customized messages wishing the girl a happy birthday and telling the youngsters to enjoy their pizza. The whole group was of course delighted, and several official plushies were held up in the cheers. Hoisting birthday girl Margot up onto his broad animatronic shoulders, William gave her the best possible view of the show.

Michael watched his father's every action as Fuzzhare. It was very possible that he would be made to wear the suit himself someday. To be frank, the performance kind of enthralled Mike. Gone was the William who usually sneered at and chastised him, there was only Fuzzhare, singing one moment, then sitting with the kids after the birthday show, watching the children colour and making little jokes here and there.

The inevitable sugar crashes came not long after the show concluded, but each and every kid had loved their time at Freddy's. Still in the role of Fuzzhare, William followed the army of kids to the front exit, waving them all goodbye.

"Come back soon~!" The golden hare called. "Freddy Fazbear will **love** seeing his friends again!"

.

And then the bustle had suddenly worn off. There were still a few customers, mostly slightly older kids with later curfews and parents with particularly stubborn children. Knowing it was near closing time, 'Fuzzhare' coaxed a few of the difficult brats into listening to their parents, and gradually the entire establishment emptied out completely.

After the show, Henry had come out of the backstage DMCU - the 'direct mascot control unit', as Mike had learned. With some assistance from his son, William removed the Fuzzhare head. _"Let's lock up for the night boys,"_ Will called to his business partner and the other staff. _"Benjamin, you help out with turning down the lights, I'll handle the animatronics tonight. Henry I need you with me in the board room."_

Turning to Michael, he gestured towards the back room with a nod of his head. _"We take a quick detour to the backroom to bring this suit back to storage, and then meet Henry in the board room, yes?"_

"Yes, sir." Mike agreed without missing a beat.

Helping his father out of Fuzzhare was as quick of an ordeal as getting him in had been, and after sitting the mascot suit down where it had been before, William lead the way back to the employee room.

The only Fazbear Entertainment board members present were William and Henry themselves, but that was plenty for the purpose of hiring on a new employee.

The two owners sat down in their respective seats, and William indicated for Michael to take a chair on the side of the table closest to him.

 _"So,"_ William began once all parties were seated. _"You've done very well these past days, Michael."_

Mike smiled carefully, wary of any hooks that may be buried just ahead. His father bent to his side to grab something off the floor, revealing it to be his work suitcase. Michael hadn't even _seen_ him take it with him when they went to Freddy's, so he must have left it overnight, prepared for this meeting.

Clicking open the suitcase, Will laid out several printed pages. One for Henry, himself and Michael, and then one more to share between them.

_"Please read this document in full, Michael. It explains your duties, and how Fazbear Entertainment chooses to operate Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Henry and I shall go over our own pages to confirm between each other that we still see eye to eye about the terms we agreed to, concerning the hiring of new staff."_

Michael had never gone in for a job interview before, but he still felt weirded-out as he read through the item he had been handed. It was comparable to the clipboard with rules that he'd been given for the nightshifts, this document going so far as to even repeat the "no police" agreement.

_• You, as a Freddy Fazbear's Pizza employee, are not to speak to the police. Should authorities turn up in the establishment, you are required to refer them to a board member instead. Do **not** discuss the presence of law enforcement between colleagues and **especially not** with Freddy Fazbear's Pizza customers. Do not speak to police about Freddy Fazbear's Pizza outside of work hours._

_• In the event of an accident in relation to an animatronic, get people (patrons and lower-ranking employees) away from direct proximity. Step back if a higher-ranking employee takes control of the situation. Should a colleague or customer be injured, you are required to alert a board member. They will call for an ambulance, and you will be tasked with keeping the immediate area clear._

_• In the event of an accident not relating to an animatronic, you are to secure the site and alert a board member. As with the previous rule, they will call an ambulance._

_• In the event you are present when a Freddy's mascot breaks down, you are to lower the stage curtain and alert a board member and in-house technician as soon as possible._

_• You are not to speak to anyone preparing to represent or representing a customer in a court of law. Refer them to a board member instead._

_• You are to listen to higher-ranking employees. Be flexible. Your assistance might be needed in different sections of the establishment throughout the day._

_• You are to dress appropriately and always serve Freddy Fazbear's Pizza patrons with a smile._

Geeze, the core was serious about keeping law enforcement out of the know. Mike understood that 1983 had been a close call, but he couldn't help but wonder why they were paranoid when that was three years ago now.

Even so, he couldn't afford to get picky. His father had thrown him this lifeline, and he just could not let himself squander the opportunity.

The two business partners spoke to eachother very quietly as Michael re-read his paper. Sneaking a cautious glance when they fell quiet, he could see a wordless confrontation unfolding. His father was leaned slightly towards Henry, his grey eyes boring into blue. Emily was trying to hold his ground, but slipping, the clash ending with him flicking his own eyes away much like Michael was accustomed to doing.

_Loser,_ Mike caught himself thinking. 

He pretended to be re-reading his document again until his father coughed into his fist to draw all eyes back to him. 

_"Have you read and understood our rules, Michael?"_ The man inquired, garnering a quiet nod from Mike. _"Good. Henry and I have made our decision."_

Reaching out to slide the fourth page to himself, William brought out a pen and gracefully signed on one of the dotted lines. Following his example, Henry too left his signature on the document. 

Emily slid the paper back in Michael's direction, and he accepted it and the pen. 

This document contained more writing, some of it quite small, but from his father's expectant look, he could tell now wasn't the time to scrutinize that. 

With only a _minor_ nervous jitter, Mike brought the pen tip to the last dotted line. The initial contact left a darker ink blotch as he belatedly began to write, but his signature was otherwise as he was used to writing it. 

Not quite as practiced as Henry's, and nowhere _near_ as graceful as his father's. Compared to his own, William's signature looked regal like a divine script. 

_"This is a joyous ocasion indeed,"_ His dad commented, retrieving the signed paper. With a flourish, he presented a little contraption from his work case. 

A stamp machine. His eyes met Michael's for only a cold, shortlived moment, before he brought the tool down. Placing it almost right across Mike's fresh signature, he stamped the paper with a finality Michael could practically _feel_ on his skin. 

The proud, purple stamp used only by the core to verify all of Fazbear Entertainment's executive decisions. 

_"Welcome to the Fazbear family, Michael."_ William Afton spoke with glee. 

.

And so it came to pass. Michael was disappointed to find that his contract was only a part-time one, which had him work the day shift for only the minimum of 24 hours each week. Combined with minimum wage pay, he barely made over a hundred dollars weekly.

Still, it was better than the rare 'hand-outs' he had been made to share with his sister. He couldn't possibly afford to move out on this pay, and he didn't expect his father to keep him employed if he dared distance himself from the household, but at least he could slowly begin to build some meager savings.

And, as he soon found out, the work was quite a good fit to him. He felt safe in the humdrum of Freddy's during open hours. His father could only watch him as he went about his duties, and although those scrutinizing grey eyes made him a bit nervous, Mike felt secure.

Weeks turned to months, and Michael kept working, getting to know the day staff he shared hours with. The veterans of Freddy's showed him the ropes with many of the establishments' chores, and Mike welcomed the aid.

Just a couple of months after starting, he began seeing a few new faces around. Freddy's was doing quite well, and he heard through the grapevine that there were drafts for a third, much larger location. The four main animatronics that had been brought here on short notice had been the originals of the secondary location, which had then built its' own replacement squad following a big renovation.

This third location was apparently going to use all-new designs and different materials. There was mention of these mysterious future mascots receiving a fresh look with brighter colours, to appeal to the youngest part of the audience and take some pressure off of the smaller used-to-be-Fredbear's and the second location.

Many of the new trainees who were hired on - supposedly to be tested for suitability for the rumoured third location - were young, most only a scant few months past the minimum age for employment.

More and more, Michael found himself working with employees two years his junior, and he gladly welcomed their admiration as their ocasional instructor. He had quickly picked up where corners could be cut, and how to expedite all manner of tasks just as Freddy Fazbear's Pizza staff had learned very well to do. Animatronics were a pricy investment, and any method that could save a buck was a welcome one in the eyes of management.

With admiration, came influence. Quite confident now, Michael was less and less afraid of speaking up. He acted no different towards his superiors, remaining mellow and obedient with his father, but the newbies eventually began to notice a distinct change.

Determined to keep his position and income secure, Mike would watch the younger employees closely, hissing corrections and 'friendly advice' where needed when his seniors weren't watching. He simply could not afford to let these kids make _him_ look bad.

They didn't dare tell anyone, even as he pushed some of them so far that they soon quit. None of those newbies dared to mess with an Afton, and Michael didn't care if they stopped coming because of him.

Even father didn't know why so many of the youngsters only had short stints at Freddy's before suddenly quitting, but the hiring process went on.

At home, Mike still remained the underdog. At Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, he found his escape.

.

Things stayed that way for a while, and it was good enough for him. One evening though, he came home to find his Plushbear on his bed, with a small pink note beside it.

"I'm sorry" It read in his sister's handwriting. Michael almost chose to just accept it, but then something dark dawned on him.

_She's trying to sabotage you. You're supposed to be getting rid of these._

The gradual phasing out of plush friends from his room had gone... Decently. Some of the toys he could do without, but there were still a few that would survive every purge.

Plushbear, had he been a part of the group all this time, would definitely have made it too.

Now, though, Mike felt something snap in him. His sister was such a nasty little _brat_ , making him angry and soaking up all of father's praise. Trying to get her big brother into trouble. Grabbing the Fredbear plushie and looking it deep in its' painted blue eyes, Michael came to a decision.

.

He spent that evening in the yard behind the house, with a selection of his plushies. It was warm outside, not because of the weather, but due to the small fire he had made in the outdoor fire basket. Every few minutes, he'd toss in a new chunk of firewood as needed, and sometimes gave it a new plushie for companionship.

All his previous toys he had simply thrown in the rubbish or left out in a cardboard box, for passing kids to adopt.

Tonight he'd settled on this.

Eventually, Michael ran out of plushies. The only one that remained, still sat at his side, was Plushbear. He grabbed the golden bear and looked him over, deliberating with himself.

_Thinking it over too long makes you succeptible to self-doubt. Is that really what you need? Do the right thing._

Without any further hesitation, he threw the Fredbear toy into the maw of the fire basket. Grabbing for the hand-bellows he has used to coax the fire to life, he blew more oxygen into the small blaze. Through the flames, he could see Plushbear's fur singing.

Leaving the bellows to lay at his side, he sat back in the soft grass, and watched.

Michael felt very much at peace, all of a sudden.


	5. Odd Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected tragedy comes to Freddy's once more, and the fissures splitting the management team begin to show through. Amidst the shakeup, Mike meets someone new.

With time, Freddy's became a wonderful world for Michael all over again. He met new people every day, young and old both.

Occassionally, he would let himself hang around the fringes of birthday parties, watching the parents dote on their kids and quietly sharing in the innocent joy. For a little while, he could feel alright.

He warmed up to the animatronics, too. Even Chica, with her ever-imposing and most of all _confusing_ toothy beak, became something he could look forward to seeing again. Foxy staunchly remained as his favourite, but now he found it impossible to say he had no fondness at all for any of the mascots.

Once, Henry offered him a spot in the animatronic control unit, and the two of them guided the main trio of mascots through a simple stage show together.

It was a pleasant memory to Michael, but he couldn't shake one niggling bit of discomfort. All through their collaboration, Henry came off as... Disingeneous. Like he was trying to seem nice, but didn't _really_ want to commit to it. Mike thanked him for the new experience, but left it at that and continued on with his regular duties without looking back.

.

There was one animatronic that always required manual handling, and it was none other than old Fuzzhare. Michael saw the outdated mascot more often now, because his father would sometimes request his aid when looking after the suit, even if Fuzzy wasn't scheduled to perform.

Sometimes, he really wondered if William perhaps fancied the suit... But that was _weird_ to think about, and so he usually just let that theory float down the stream of lost thoughts every time he came upon it again. For his own sake, he eventually decided to believe it just had to be the nostalgia factor. Fredbear and Fuzzhare had mostly been his father's inventions, after all.

Michael had become quite adept at working with Fuzzhare, needing but mere minutes to help the wearer get in. He had even worn it himself, though only for practice and rehersal for the time being.

Today, he was helping long-time employee David Milligan into the golden suit. All was normal as they worked to secure the mascot body after getting him slotted neatly into it. While David performed his routine mobility test, Mike prepared to put the hare's head in place.

His colleague held up a hand before he could do so, telling him to wait. "Hold on. My foot's a little pinched," David told him, shifting with some measure of discomfort. Upon glancing at the clock on the wall though, the man seemed to rethink what he was about to say. "Fuck it, no time to get me out and back in, I gotta go up. C'mon Mike, put the head on, I'll just deal with it."

Trusting in his senior colleague's experience, Michael placed the empty mascot head over David's and latched it to the rest of the suit, completing Fuzzhare for his show.

David turned to him with a grateful nod, and took a step in the direction of the door leading out of the backroom.

One step was as far as he got. "Ow, _fuck._ " The man cursed, trying not to put any more weight on the foot that suddenly... Really, really seemed to hurt. Not moving an inch more, his voice became a lot more quiet and breathy.

"Uhh, Mikey, might wanna help me get out anyway, my ankle isn't feeling so h-"

He didn't get the time to finish his sentence as Michael saw the suited man's affected leg suddenly go rigid, shortly followed by a _howl_ of pain. Immediately, David reflexively shifted, instinct kicking in with his body ordering him into moving away from the threat that completely surrounded him.

Michael tried to steady him, but then the second leg made a horrific snapping noise, punctuated with a sickening _squish_. Milligan cried again, shouting for Mike, but Michael couldn't get a hold on the mascot head as David went down. The failures spread upwards from both legs to the man's middle and up his spine, every harsh click followed by a wail. Michael was frantically trying to get the suit to stop, but red slicked his fingers. Red was on his hands, then on his clothes, even on his face and he kept _trying_ , but David was thrashing and gurgling and Mike knew he had to go get a board member, and a technician and an ambulance -

A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, and a voice over him was calling 911 dispatch for paramedics.

Father. Father would take over for him from here.

Michael wasn't really listening as William called the tech team leader too. He stayed there, knelt on the ground, watching the scene unfold.

David was still writhing uselessly, the floor under him slicked by his own blood, and the scene was so _alien_ that it entranced Michael. He knew what not to do when in a springlock suit, he'd done this faultlessly over ten times now. Why had the suit failed, and why was this sight so... fascinating?

The screams had died down once the attachment holding the head connected failed, presumably impaling the structural rods through David's vocal chords. Michael was abruptly shoo'd aside to make space for the paramedics as they rushed in, but he remained to watch silently as they soon concluded the man inside the mascot had unfortunately lost his life.

William helped the ambulance personel peel what used to be David out of his golden - red - creation, and once they had taken the body away through the back exit, the tech team was ordered by their employer to notify the cleaning crew.

Michael still stood there, ignored. Once they were alone together, father finally turned to him.

Mike swallowed shallowly, the nerves building. Once again, he'd bore witness to a gruesome scene, only for his body and mind to scarcely process it, just as it had when Fredbear's jaws had closed on his little brother's skull.

Only numbness and a sick sort of curiosity had followed both events.

He'd really tried his best to help, but he had never seen anything like it before. He had no idea that springlocks could devastate a living thing so. The blood and gore had flung itself right up against the wall David had been facing, richly stippling the floor, door and wall decor with small red spatters.

.

_"You're covered in it."_ William muttered lowly, looking like he'd only just noticed the bloodstains on his son. _"Hurry to the office bathroom and wash off before anyone sees. I'll bring you home."_

The promise of _home_ was something Michael suddenly realized he really welcomed. He needed space to... Think. His room wasn't as invioable as he had once believed, but he needed to be anywhere but _here._

He rushed to and through the office Will and Henry shared, headed straight to the restroom. He didn't notice the small bloodstain he had stepped in in the backroom, which was now staining his footsteps upon the lilac carpet.

He looked himself over in the restroom mirror, noting all the small crimson flecks scattered about his face. He rubbed at the drying, red stains with a cold bundle of moistened toilet paper, removing almost every trace of blood from his skin.

His prized Freddy's clothing could not be helped the same way. He'd have to be out the door and at the car without being seen. Only popping his head back into the saferoom to let his dad know he was ready to go, he rushed back out into the alleyway, waiting there in the drizzle.

.

Some days he felt shame for not knowing how to drive. He knew his dad definitely didn't like having to ferry him about, but he's simply never had been given the opportunity to try for a licence. Then again, he had the sense that even if he _did_ know how to drive, he really wasn't in the right headspace for it right now.

William exited Freddy's not long after his son, hurrying to his car and backing up out of the alley as soon as Mike closed his passenger seat door.

Father didn't look his way as he drove them home, but he had to be racking his brain over all sorts of things.

_"Michael, it might be best if you take off your employee vest."_ William suddenly advised. _"If somebody sees the stains, they might notify others."_

It was a solid recommendation, and Mike was quick to pull the item off, leaving only an old tank top beneath. He didn't like having his neck be unprotected, especially not so close to his father, but at least the bruising from months ago had long since disappeared. He looked ruefully at the dark blotches all over the uniform, and hoped they would come out with enough washing.

_"Bring it to the laundry room as soon as we get home and don't let your sister see it when she comes home from school. I'll handle cleaning it."_

.

Michael was quiet and obedient from the moment they got home, fetching his father whatever he asked for to clean the uniform with. Unfortunately, even with their best attempts, it was clear the dark stains wouldn't fully come out in just one go.

Standing by the sidelines, Mike jumped just a little when dad abruptly addressed him. _"I think it would be best for you to take the night shift, for the time being. Security or cleaning?"_

A choice? Being offered that kind of freedom was rare... "Night watch," Michael replied softly, following it up with a gentle "Please".

He just hoped father wouldn't disregard him and have him on cleaning duty out of spite. It wasn't an impossibility.

When William nodded quietly, still wringing the uniform through a soup of stain removers, Michael's shoulders relaxed some. _"Night watch it is. You'll keep the same hours if you want to."_

That he was fine with. He'd happily take extra paid hours too, but he honestly doubted his father would let him have _that._

After that brief talk, William dismissed him. It wasn't long after Mike had retreated to his room that he heard the front door open and slam back shut.

Father was probably going back to Freddy's to coordinate damage control.

.

Returning to the nightwatch position was at once something Michael welcomed (it was leagues better than being tasked with janitorial duties no matter how you spun it), and also something which he dreaded. He'd almost forgotten how damn boring it was to sit in that little room for six hours.

At least it was easy, familiar and safe.

Some nights, Mike would hear the rumble of dad's car pulling up into the alley, and every time he did he would soon see the man himself enter the dim building. A few of those times, William took Steve along to the backroom, where they presumably worked on cleaning and fixing Fuzzhare. Father never talked about the process to Michael, but it had to be an arduous task.

Mike had thought the suit would be dismantled or completely scrapped, just like Fredbear had been. Now that it was clear both golden mascots were potentially lethal, not just to kids but _adults_ , surely their era would come to a close. Then again, the hare mascot was clearly favored by his maker, and William had a _lot_ of say in all matters concerning Freddy's.

One morning, just at the 6am mark, Michael heard the familiar footfalls of Henry walking up to the office, but today he also heard the man speaking heatedly. Listening in on him through the door, Mike guessed Emily had to be arguing with someone over the phone, and the mention of a name told Michael exactly who the other person was.

"-suit MAIMED a long-time employee to DEATH, WILL."

Michael cringed a bit at the shouting, not used to it after a long night of silence. He put his ear back to the door when Emily continued.

"It will NOT continue to see use! I am putting my foot down- No, _you_ listen to _me_ here- That thing is not going anywhere near customers ever again! Bring it home and _die in it_ if you love it so much! Yes! I said that. Fuck off, Will. Grow a fucking heart."

Following the sound of an irritated huff, Mike jumped back when the door handle abruptly jostled. Henry, too, startled slightly upon opening the door, before the two of them locked eyes.

"Yike." Michael muttered. "That's not gonna go over well, you know that right?"

He was already nonchalantly gathering up his coat and shoulder bag when Emily grumbled back at him. "I _know_ , Michael. Listen, I didn't mean for you to hear that, just... Disregard it. This is between your father and I."

Whatever. Mike handed the spotless night report form to the co-owner and sauntered out of the security office. He didn't have to be afraid of a rival of his father. So long as William wanted his son employed here, here he would get to stay, iregardless of how much of a fit Henry wanted to pitch.

Henry had just set himself up for something really nasty. Michael wondered if a smart businessman could sell spectator seats for the inevitable blowup.

.

He and Emily stopped speaking after that morning. Whenever Henry was there to receive his reports, Mike would hand them over without a word. He really didn't want to risk getting caught up in whatever fallout would come to follow Henry's outburst at his father.

Speaking of, William continued working on Fuzzhare for a few more nights, even taking it out of the backroom a few times to walk it around. He had to be damn confident in his work, for him to refrain from using Michael as a guinea pig instead, when he knew his son was on site.

.

Then, it was quiet for a while. No more nocturnal visits by William, no early-morning arguments over the phone between the two business partners. Just Mike, and the slow onwards march of time.

Until _the night_. Michael had been watching Steve work in Pirate's Cove at about 4 in the morning, when movement on the other side of the building drew his attention. He hadn't heard his father's Challenger pull up into the alley at any point tonight, nor had he seen William make his way to the back room.

And yet there he stood, the unmistakable, though dimly lit, form of Fuzzhare. Michael wondered who, if not his father, could be wearing it. Nobody had snuck in, and as far as Mike was aware, the backroom was kept secret from patrons. It couldn't be a stowaway, then. There were no windows or other exits leading into the backroom, so there was no possibility of a break-in either.

Michael was about to leave the office to go confront the stranger, but the moment he made a move to rise from his chair, Fuzzhare started moving again.

Sitting back down, Mike followed the mascot suit's progress. Worryingly enough, it seemed to be coming closer. What if it was a criminal who donned the suit as a disguise? What if the suit failed again? Michael didn't have the option to call the police, and if the previous failure was any indication, death by springlocks was a swift ordeal. If something went wrong, a third person would be dead on the premises.

Sweat broke out on the back of Michael's neck as Fuzzhare continued to move, getting ever closer to the office. Did the wearer know the place? Could it be his dad after all, playing some mean game?

The poor reach of the cameras didn't help ease his nerves any. Mike directed the cam he was on to turn all the way to the left to track the golden mascot, but the device couldn't reach far enough.

With Fuzzhare now off his feed, Michael felt a slight panic take hold. What could he use to defend himself if the person in the suit meant him harm? Should he even try to defend himself? Would he be blamed if the suit broke again in the event he hit the stranger, because he had feared for his own safety?

It was probably someone with bad intentions, wasn't it? How lovely for another issue to pile itself onto Michael Afton's collection of problems. He quietly found himself hoping for the suited person to _please just go after Steve, leave me be_ , and the tension was making him feel twitchy.

.

For a few scant moments, it was quiet.

Then, much to his dismay, he heard the familiar sound of animatronic footfalls. They were measured and slow, the person inside clearly not in much of a hurry.

Mike suddenly snapped out of his stupor then, rushing to the door and trying to turn the key... Only to promptly jam it inside of the keyhole in his haste. 

"No, no, no..." He muttered to himself as the footfalls neared. This damn key! He should have locked the door upon his arrival! He would have, had he known _this_ night at Freddy's would be different. His one mistake was going to be his undoing, right here and now. One wrong step, and he hadn't known before tonight that it would be the last one he'd ever take-

The footfalls had ceased. Mike went quiet as a mouse, breath shallow and silent. Maybe, somehow, the stranger hadn't heard him, and would think the office empty. Maybe he should hide under the desk, and hope littler him's experience with avoiding a livid William at home would save him here.

_Too late now_ , he thought. He expected the handle to start turning any moment now.

Instead, there was only a gentle knock on the door. Not really believing his ears, Mike didn't respond to it. A soft knock again, though slightly louder this time.

"Hello?" A stranger's voice inquired. "Michael? Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you."

_Amazing. It really wasn't his father at all._

Even so, Michael wasn't going to trust this person. "Who are you?" He demanded to know, leaning all his weight on the door in the hope that it wouldn't budge even if the stranger tried to open it.

The suited person was quiet for a moment, which Mike found suspicious. Looking for a cover name, perhaps?

"I'm just good old Fuzzhare, buddy. I wanna be friends! But I won't come in if you don't want me to! I'll stay right here, and we can talk~!"

That was oddly reassuring, even though Michael didn't believe for a _second_ that it really was the animatronic itself. "Whatever happens, you fucking stay there on the other side of that door. I'm not letting you in." He hissed in affirmation. He heard a small giggle come in reply.

"You got it, boss!" 'Fuzzhare' chirped back. "Just, uh- When your shift is about to end, maybe make sure not to tell anyone you saw me, please? I'll go back to where I'm supposed to be before the clock strikes six!"

Mike squinted. He really wanted to know who was talking to him... "And why should I do that? I don't even know who you really are, or your intentions for that matter."

Another soft, friendly-sounding laugh. "But buddy, I just told you!" The stranger assured. "I'm Fuzzhare - but you can just call me Fuzzy - and I want to be your friend!"

Michael was quiet for a moment, weighing his options. His curiosity was burning, but just like the cat from the cautionary saying, it could easily be his undoing. He wanted to see who was behind that mask, or find out it was really Fuzzhare. The difference would be easy enough to spot; if the suit's green ocular units were in place, it meant there couldn't possibly be a (living) person in there, as it indicated the endoskeleton was engaged and the suit was in stage mode.

He'd have to open the door to look, because the cameras hadn't shown a clear picture of the mascot's face.

"Why, pray tell, do you want to be my friend?" He demanded to know. This was bizarre, completely out of line. The animatronics were cool, his dad had certainly built them better than anyone else ever could have, but _this_ was too much. None of the animatronics could be this conversational when disconnected from the DMCU, and even with the control unit it was just an elaborate sham to convince dumb kids that the mascots were real people.

It couldn't possibly be that Fuzzhare was _haunted_. That stuff only happened in the movies. Even knowing that, though, Mike had to give in to his morbid curiosity. "What is your _real_ real name, Fuzzhare? Is it David, by any chance?"

A small noise of surprise came from the other side of the door at that inquiry. "Why, you are a clever one Michael, connecting those dots!" Fuzzhare eagerly replied. "You really don't need to be afraid, but I'll explain it all when you're ready. You can call me David, if you'd prefer."

Mike didn't favor one option over the other. Frankly, he actually didn't really want to assign a man's name to the suit that had killed him.

Fuzzhare continued talking, now in a much lower murmur. "In truth, I came here not only to offer my companionship... But also to warn you."

That made Michael jerk fully upright in alarm. What could that mean? "Warn me? About what?"

Fuzzhare didn't leave him anxious for an answer long. "I'm sure you know more about him than I, but I've seen what he thinks of you. Your _father_ , Michael, _he's going to hurt you._ "

Mike sucked in a silent breath. He knew his father was always looking for opportunities to torment him, but if this warning was real, then something was already coming his way.

"He's convinced himself that David's death was your fault, and he is furious." Fuzzhare continued. "I don't know what he wants to inflict upon you, but you must be careful. I'm worried about you Michael, please avoid him as much as you can."

Michael muttered a "yeah" in reply, fear pooling somewhere in his stomach, twisting it a little. He'd already given his father ammunition with Jerry, and now he was a target following David's mysterious fuck-up?

The clock on the work desk ticked over to 5 a.m. with a small chime, and Mike was surprised at the cue. Was he really almost done already?

"Fuzzhare, it's almost the end of my shift," He spoke. "-maybe you should go back to the backroom..."

If 'Fuzzhare' refused to go or even just stretched for time, Mike knew that he just had to be lying after all. If he didn't mean harm, he should prove it by not testing the person he was trying to befriend.

"Yes, yes, excellent idea," The other replied easily. "I'm glad I could warn you. Please be safe."

Mike didn't reply, listening to the soft, fading sound of animatronic feet carrying the suit away. Soon, the shadowy form of Fuzzhare reappeared on the cameras, making his way back via the same route he took to get to the office. Steve was in Party Room 2, which was fairly far away from the hare's path. The mascot returned to (or Mike presumed he did - there were no cameras pointed at that specific room) the backroom without incident, and Michael found himself alone again.

He sat a while, and thought hard about what the fuck had just happened.

He got the stuck key out of the crummy lock and went on to write his night report - _No abnormalities_ , after which he handed it off to Henry at six.

.

On his walk home, Mike continued to think, stopping briefly to watch a feral rabbit grazing from a flower bed in the early morning fog.

_What if Fuzzhare really was possessed?_ He asked himself. _How should I proceed, as the only one who currently knows?_

He knew that telling dad would only cause him worse trouble. William might lash out, and accuse him of being insane on top of that. No matter how good his father's creations were, they just weren't _capable_ of the kind of conversation Mike had had with Fuzzhare this morning. If the suit really were sentient, it wasn't by design, and his father had always discounted the existence of magic and spirits.

He was the realist, where Henry was stuck dreaming of some stupid candyfloss-fairytale world, making the world sound so much more lovely than it really was for his daughter's benefit.

Maybe sleep was getting to him, but Michael didn't think his rest had been poor as of late.

Maybe he _was_ sick in the head, just as father insisted.

_Best to just get into bed as soon as possible,_ he decided as he slotted the house key into the front door and opened it. _Eating can wait 'till pa's at work for the day, Fuzzy told you to avoid him after all._


	6. Suffering will be your teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Fuzzhare are forced into close quarters for the first time by a visitor, and it goes surprisingly well. At home, on the other hand, things take a serious turn for Michael.
> 
> BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEVERE PHYSICAL ABUSE IN THIS ONE, STRAP IN!

The next few days were going to be dicey. After getting home, Mike sucessfully slipped off into his bedroom unseen. His sleep was fitful, though. Knowing William could storm into his room at any moment, and that there was nothing Michael could do about it, didn't help him settle in for a much-needed rest at all.

Yet his father never came to him. Why, he had no idea, but that tension never snapped in some grand event. It just stayed there, layering on and on, agrevating Michael's anxieties. He snuck out of the house on time for his walk to Freddy's, but his mind was racing the whole way there.

He made it to work, passing by Steve without a word on his way to the office.

.

After getting settled in for his duties, Mike felt a little more at ease when Fuzzhare eventually reappeared at around 2 in the morn. He even cracked the door just enough to peek as the animatronic approached, before hurriedly jamming it shut again with a small _"sorry"_.

He wasn't ready to really open the door, not yet, and he wouldn't unless his hand was forced. Part of him still insisted that it just _couldn't be real_.

But he knew what he'd seen; the Fuzzhare suit, animated and alive, all by itself. Its' cartoony green eyes were almost luminous, Mike had seen that much even though he had so quickly cowered and hidden himself from view again. The animatronic wasn't being worn by someone, it - _he_ really just _was_ what he claimed, walking calmly up to the office door to come talk to the nightguard like all was normal.

Once they had both assumed their spots, Fuzzhare showed no hint of intending to intrude upon Mike's space. Hell, the mascot never even asked him to consider just opening the door. The two of them simply talked from where they were, on opposite ends of the basic wooden barrier. Now that he knew there wasn't a suited-up human to tattle on him, Michael somehow felt more free to speak to this newfound companion. If this was all some delusion after all, at least he would have wasted his time speaking to the empty air rather than someone who would go on to inform his father.

.

Mike found himself asking deep questions he could barely make sense of at times, and to some Fuzzhare had answers, to others he did not. The golden hare informed Mike that a lot of his replies were based off of something he'd 'felt' William think during the few times the man wore the suit since the incident, and he reminded that what William thought he knew might not be correct.

Fuzzhare himself asked very basic questions - how long Mike had been working here, what he liked about Freddy's, his favourite colour... And then, if he was taking good care of himself, too.

Michael honestly kind of welcomed the simple, and even heartfelt questions. Fuzzhare readily admitted he was seeking to learn as much about his new friend as possible, saying it was so he could compare the information William unknowingly provided to who Michael really appeared to be.

"Your father frankly sounds like an incredibly unpleasant person, Michael," Fuzzhare told him through the door. At that, Mike was silent for a moment. _Wow, somebody new who could see straight through the decoy personality dad put up as a front._

"He's really good at hiding what he's thinking," Michael responded. "Though, I guess nothing will hide the real him from you if you can just, I guess, basically read the minds of whoever wears you. How's that work, anyway?"

He heard a small "hmmm" from the other side of the door. "Really, that beats me," Fuzzhare eventually responded. "I've only been aware since the whole thing with your coworker... Though, then again, I gleaned that David and your father were good friends. Maybe some part of him is with me still, helping me to figure my creator out. That, and mister Afton speaks an awful lot to himself when left alone! That's the main reason I know so much, actually. He's kinda creepy, I think."

"Well, then that makes two of us..." Mike replied softly. He'd heard William speak to himself just a few times over the years, though he could never quite discern the words. Usually, Michael had quickly hurried off to avoid getting caught, other times father was deeply focused on some project of his, the shuffling of blueprint paper and the hasty scrawling of his pencil drowning out his soft mutters.

Mike had no idea his father apparently spoke to himself so frequently, or at least often enough in recent times for Fuzzhare to pick out quite a bit of information from his words.

At 3 a.m. a sudden thought struck Michael. This was his last shift of the week, as he still only worked the same part-time contract that had him here for just three out of seven nights. 

"Fuzzhare?" He prompted. "Uh, just so you're aware, I won't be here tomorrow night, and I'll actually be away until next Friday. Just wanted to make sure you knew..."

Fuzzhare replied in short order. "Noted, that's very important information. I wouldn't want another nightguard to see me move, they might suspect I'm broken... And broken things need repairs. I want to be able to speak to you, Michael. I need to know you're safe!"

Mike felt a bit odd at that. They had only been talking for two nights, and Fuzzhare was already so devoted. Michael felt he should maintain some distance, what with his track record of ruining good things and hurting innocent people. He was the first person the animatronic had gotten to talk to, but he wasn't exactly the kind of person worth getting attached to...

He was about to tell the golden mascot that he'd be just fine looking after himself, but the words got stuck in his throat. He didn't *want* to keep that distance. He had nobody to talk to at home, and he had been all alone in the office before this new development. Having someone to converse with was... Nice.

His father he'd rather avoid, and for damn good reason. His sister was too immature and duplicitous. Steve was too... _comfortable_ with chatting, leaving Mike to fear the janitor might let something he'd been told fall on ears that information was not meant for. Then finally, the newbies trying to shoot for a position at the future location were either total entitled brats, or sniveling cowards.

These blessings, no matter how small, were something Michael Afton refused to let go to waste.

He asked about what Fuzzhare would do when he was left alone during the day, and the mascot made a sound akin to a whimper. "Sit in the backroom, I guess. Your father is determined to have me return to service but with how hard he's been thinking about that, he must be facing lots of opposition."

Remembering the argument he had listened in on, Mike hummed. "Wouldn't call it _lots_ of opposition, Henry will capitulate if pressed enough, but he is a minor hurdle none the less. Would you even _want_ to return to service though, Fuzzhare? I wouldn't judge if you didn't. It gets messy around the kids."

The suit on the other side of the door responded quite merrily. "Oh, I would be fine either way! I'm being cared for still, and so long as I can be sure you're well, I have no complaints. My worry stems from the risk of us being separated."

Again, the mascot reiterated his focus on Michael's wellbeing. It still felt odd to him, to have someone express such concern, but he wasn't going to dismiss somebody who was apparently privy to his father's real thoughts and plans. 

.

He maintained their slow conversation, occassionally peeking at the office clock to make sure he could alert Fuzzhare in time for the machine to make it safely back to the backroom.

His eyes sought out the security monitors, as well. Steve was still doing his rounds, but Mike was alarmed at the man's proximity. He was at the edge of CAM 5 - the one closest to the office. It was unlikely he'd hear them if they kept the low volume they had just been talking at, but Fuzzhare was a childrens' entertainer, and though Michael couldn't exactly name the dialect the living mascot spoke with, the hare's voice could shoot up in pitch and volume when Michael mentioned something that apparently intrigued him.

"Fuzzhare," He prompted, cutting off the mascot's next inquiry. "We need to be silent. The janitor is nearby, we can't let him find you."

To his credit, the hare animatronic drastically lowered his volume in his reply. "Got it boss. Not a peep from this critter 'till you say so."

.

They waited in silence for some time, Mike intently watching the monitors for Steve. Unfortunately for them, the man went out of camera range in the _worst_ possible direction.

_Right towards the security office._

"Change of plans," Mike quickly hissed through his teeth. "He's coming this way, I need to hide you."

Fighting against his trepidation, Michael told himself he had to open the door.

Part of him expected not to see anything on the other side. It would certainly be proof this was just a figment of his imagination, after all. Mike quickly decided he didn't _want_ it to turn out that way, though. Fuzzhare's companionship was something he'd come to welcome very fast.

Upon opening the door, he jumped slightly at the sheer height of the mascot. It _shouldn't_ have, since he had worked with the suit so much, but something about knowing the supernatural truth made his breath catch despite that fact.

"Come, come-" he urged, guiding the hare to duck through the doorframe so his ears wouldn't catch on it. The backroom door was made to accommodate entertainers wearing tall springlock suits, but the office wasn't created equal.

He just managed to get the door closed when the sound of a cleaning trolley started from around the corner of the corridor. He'd hidden Fuzzhare from view in the nick of time, but they would absolutely be caught if Steve opened the door. Anxious as he spun a quick little lie, Michael waited.

Footsteps stopped at the door, and a soft knock sounded.

"Mikey? Ey, Mike, you okay?" Inquired the janitor. "You didn't talk to me when ya came in and you didn't look so great, thought I'd check during my rounds."

Thank fate Steve was considerate enough not to just burst into the room. Mike silently considered how his father could learn a thing or two from his own employees.

"I-I'm alright-" He muttered in reply. _Nice job, idiot,_ his inner voice chastised. _Can't even lie properly._ "Just didn't sleep that well. We all have those kinda days, right? And honestly, I don't really wanna be seen right now..."

He was sure Steve would call his bluff, and that it was all over for his and Fuzzhare's little secret.

"Alright buddy, I'm not gonna interrogate ya." Came the janitor's reply. It was clear he had the sense that something was amiss, but it seemed he would let it lay for now. "Hope you're looking after yourself well. Here, I even got 'cha a little something from what I scrounged up these last two weeks."

The door wasn't completely shut, and through the narrow opening, Steve's hand presented a few dollar bills. 

Fuzzhare was closer to the door than Michael was, and before Mike could do it himself, the mascot had reached out and gripped onto the bills from his place behind the door.

 _Fuzzhare, what the Hell are you doing?_ Michael wanted to ask. He couldn't leave Steve without an answer though, so he forced a curt "Thank you, Si- Steve...", after which the janitor's hand pulled back, leaving the bills in the animatronic's grasp.

"Take care, Mikey." Steve's voice came again. "Hope you feel better next week! I'll see if I can't get you some more pocket money by Friday night. Don't tell your dad, okay?"

Mike muttered a quick "Yeah..." in response, after which the sound of the janitor's footsteps trailed slowly off, the nightguard and animatronic remaining stock-still until even the noise of the rolling and rattling trolley died away.

.

Once he saw Steve reappear on the cameras, Michael let out a long breath, the colour that had drained from his face coming back somewhat. Turning to Fuzzhare, who still stood there with the bills in hand, he began to seethe.

_"What the fuck was that, Fuzz? You could gave gotten us caught! There was no reason for you to do that."_

Fuzzy's green eyes met Michael's two blues, and the mascot's eyelids dropped somewhat, causing those eyes to look narrowed. "I didn't know what he was trying to give you," The hare replied. "-and took the initiative to protect you. He had no idea it wasn't you who took the money."

Mike raised his lip somewhat, almost snarling. "Don't pull shit like that, okay? What could he even have been planning to give me that could do me harm? He's a _janitor_ , Fuzzhare."

The golden suit's ears shifted minutely, standing even straighter with what Mike could only assume to be pride. "I stand by my action. I don't trust the other humans here Mike. Knowing what your father thinks of you has me afraid this place is chock-full of bullies." 

Well, that didn't have to be entirely wrong. While Michael knew Steve wasn't the confronting sort, he wasn't as sure about nightguard Torres, or the Fazbear Entertainment board members he didn't know much about. 

"Just do us both a favor and don't act too hasty, okay? I don't want you to be dismantled, and definitely wouldn't want to see you scrapped because someone suspects you of being broken. We're friends now, and friends have each other's backs." 

On that note, Michael reached out a hand to the one the mascot now extended his way. 

"This was a gift for you, so I guess it's only fair you take it." The animatronic said with some kind of mechanical groan, almost comparable to a huff. "I wouldn't know what to do with money, anyhow." 

Taking the bills, Michael unfolded them... And promptly let his jaw almost hit the floor. There were only four bills in his hand, but together, they totaled up to 200 US dollars. 

Michael had never held this much money in his hands before. 

It was almost _twice_ the amount of money he made weekly. He could almost cry with joy. If he could successfully hide this cash from his father, it would help out greatly on his journey to independence. Once he had some money as a safety net, he could be _out of that damnable house._

The golden animatronic watched him, silent. After taking just a moment more just to marvel at them, Mike folded the bills and stuffed them deeply into his trouser pocket. After coming down from the encounter with Steve, the two of them continued talking until it was time for Fuzzhare to sneak away to the backroom again. 

Just before he left, the animatronic lay one of his sturdy hands on Michael's shoulder. "Be safe, my friend." He told the nightguard before opening the office door and taking his leave. 

Michael hurriedly filled in his nightwatch report form, and later turned it in to Henry like normal. 

_No abnormalities._

. 

Back at home, he most certainly encountered an abnormality. Because it was Sunday now, Elizabeth was in the house as well, watching early-morning episodes of Inspector Gadget. Mike ignored her, but on his way to the stairs, he paused for something else. On the wall-mounted corkboard just outside the kitchen, usually used for leaving each other notes and amendments to house rules, hung a blue post-it secured by a purple pin. 

_"Michael, workshop, animatronic maintenance lesson"_

The quick but neat handwriting could only mean it was a note from father. The new offer ignited an immediate curiosity in Michael, but he decided to go to his room first to get a change of clothes, and hide his ill-begotten money. 

Once in fresher clothes, he descended the stairs again. He stopped at the look Elizabeth was giving him, like she was expecting something bad to happen to him. He hated it when she knew more than he did, because she never shared anything. This time, too, she was silent as she watched him. 

"Fuck off," he grumbled. "Go on watching your dumb kiddie show." 

. 

Making his way to and then down the staircase into the workshop, Mike made sure that his steps were careful and quiet. He hadn't been in the workshop many times at all, and it had been radically different each time, with spare parts often left out like snares eager to trip him. He understood his father hated to be kept from his research and crafts, so he made sure to be as non-disruptive as possible as he sought for the man of the hour. 

_"Michael. I'm glad you could come."_

Yup, the gooseflesh was immediately in place, just as usual. Turning to the source of his father's voice, Mike nodded wordlessly, walking quietly up to the man who stood amidst his creations. 

"Glad to be here, Sir," Michael replied softly. "I saw the note, I'm ready to start." 

His father smiled, though only slightly. It wasn't a real smile by any means, but Mike didn't have the freedom to look put off. If he gave any hint of his discomfort, his father would most definitely turn him away, just as he had threatened to with the job offer of a place in Freddy's. 

_"Good. Let us begin."_

With a gesture of the hand, William urged Mike to follow. They passed a few corkboards full of blueprints and concept sketches of projects in varying states of development. They just had to be presented so openly as a show of William's genius, because Mike knew his father was intensely protective of his works, and likely only let Michael see because he was family. The two men stopped at the work desk, which itself was covered in blueprints and mechanical science stuff Mike couldn't quite grasp. 

Springlocks were already a physical thing that Michael had been permitted to work on, and though they were apparently flawed, more than anything they were simple to inspect and maintain. What he could glimpse here was unlike anything Michael knew. 

_"This is a brand new era."_ His father then proudly announced, flipping a few switches. With a terrible clanging noise, some kind of rail contraption begain to move. Slowly, from what was presumably its' storage, emerged a white bear animatronic. His father continued to speak as the machine guided the animatronic closer, completely unbothered by the racket but for the fact he had to raise his voice somewhat. _"A completely fresh generation of animatronics, of Afton make only. I wanted you to get to know the prototype, as you may one day be working on these modern marvels yourself."_

Mike took in the sight of the thing as it came to a stop just beside the workbench. It wasn't complete yet, but the blueprints on the desk outlined what it would come to look like once completed. One piece of concept art even listed a name, designating the character as "Fun-time". 

William dug through a few labeled drawers as Michael continued inspecting the bear. It's endoskeleton was unusual. Gone were the simple steel rods with mechanical joints within a largely hollow shell. While there was a central supporting structure, much of it was completely obstructed by galvanized steel wire, providing a sturdy outline to directly attach the outer shell to. He looked at both of the bear's uncovered hands, and then at the faceplates which were, peculiarly enough, split up into sections rather than just being a mask-like whole. 

_"Meet Fun-Time Freddy."_ His father said, moving to stand at Michael's side. _"There is much work to be done, but I promise not to keep you too long. You may be tired from your nightshift, after all."_

Michael nodded silently, keeping his gaze submissively lowered just in case. He didn't know what his father had in mind, but it couldn't hurt to be careful. Hell, maybe Fuzzhare was wrong, and he'd been getting anxious over nothing. Who was to say? Unpredictability coming from all parties was pretty much the norm here. 

Michael then felt something that felt like solid metal bump against his hand, and when he wrapped his fingers around it and looked, he found it to be some kind of tool. _"You take this,"_ His father prompted, and then pointed at the white and pink belly plate of the bear animatronic. _"And open up the body plating. I want you to see how this machine will be powered. Its' power control unit will one day be right beneath the shell for ease of maintenance. I want you to guess where it will slot into place."_

Eager to prove himself, Michael knelt and got to work, quickly figuring out how the tool he was given was meant to fit into the hidden rims of the belly plating to open it all up. He would not be an Afton if he didn't have talent for this kind of stuff. He was only a beginner, but he still stood leagues above the imbecillic rookies he had babysat at Freddy's before he returned to the nightwatch. 

Within a matter of minutes, he had the outer mechanism figured out, and the belly plates opened. There was more of the wire underneath, but above that lay a black shape with some wiring. That was an obvious place to start, though he really doubted his father would make it that easy. A power control unit of some description was meant to _slot in_ somewhere, so he went looking for a suitable hollow. 

. 

As he worked, he started feeling a little warm. He was used to some discomfort from heat due to his determination to wear mostly long-sleeved shirts, but he still noted it here. Meekly raising a hand to ask his father a question without having to look his way, a swift _"Yes?"_ left him with the opportunity to ask. 

"May I take my shirt off, Sir? It's getting awfully warm here." 

With a quick assent from his father, Michael did as he had asked to, removing his pale blue turtleneck, leaving only his thin tank top. "Why is it so warm here, anyway?" He questioned. 

Somewhere behind him, his father hummed. _"The machinery here produces quite a bit of heat when operating, and air-con can't fully compensate when multiple systems are running. You'll get used to it in time."_

Michael nodded and redirected his focus back on the work. 

_"You can use your hands if you feel that works better, Freddy is robust enough to handle it."_ His father encouraged. Michael, eager to speed up his work to make his father proud, pried around a bit with his fingers. It was much easier to feel for little compartments and ports with the acute sense of touch humans were equipped with. Bringing both of his hands up to around neck height, he found something he thought could be his answer. 

He only got an excited letter or two out before something was unceremoniously guided around his neck and wrists by two swift hands. He wanted to ask what was happening, but found his airway abruptly cut off as the object pulled taut. 

Some force tugged him back and on to the floor, and with a sick sense of clarity, he knew it was his father exerting this strength on him. The narrow belt looped around his neck and wrists robbed him of the ability to fight back, and he could only miss frantic kicks as his father easily avoided him. 

As the dark edges came to grace his vision again, he longed to ask why - why now, why this way, what _for_ , but he couldn't. In spite of that, it was as if his father had heard his racing thoughts. 

_"You think I didn't know, brat?"_ The man sneered, tugging on the belt again and lifting Mike's head off of the floor. _"Myself, David and then **you** were the only ones I trusted with the springlock suit."_

Michael was sure he was going to suffocate, but then his father abruptly slackened his pull, the belt buckle slipping just a bit to allow Mike a pained breath. He didn't get the room to free his wrists, and when he tried, he was swiftly punished. Forced to roll over onto his stomach, tears sprung into the corners of his eyes when another belt came down to lash horizontally over his back, his tank top no barrier to the punishment at all. He tried to scream but William pulled the belt around his neck taut again, cutting off his son's desperate call for help. 

_"You little monster, **demon child,** "_ William hissed. _"David was my friend, and you obviously noticed that."_

He brought the larger belt down again, whipping at Michael's back even harder. _"You got too big in your boots because I let you do things **very** few of your colleagues were allowed."_ He ranted on, jerking Michael's head around like he wanted to yank it clean from his neck. _"You became **jealous** when you had to share the spotlight with David. Stupid boy! You have no idea how good you had it."_

Michael continued to kick, never hitting his father or managing to right himself as the abuse continued. He sucked in whimpering breaths when permitted and breathed out agony, guided around on the smooth floor by his merciless tormentor. He could already feel welts forming where father hit him, and the man's words blended together with the critical voice in his head. 

_Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. So was your helpless little brother not enough?_

Fun-Time Freddy remained at the blurred edge of his vision, another indifferent witness to his tortured existence. 

. 

Mike didn't know exactly how long the beating lasted. He was sure he blacked out once or twice. Even unrestrained, his breathing now came painfully, the bruises on his neck and wrists the only other proof left of what had choked him. His back was bowed and raw, the raggedy tank top ripped right through by the leather in places. His back felt like it was on fire, small breaks in the skin bleeding between the raised bruises and into the fabric over them. He stayed where he was on the floor, afraid of more that may be to come. Every sense was trying to focus, but he was so afraid of what lurked out of his view that he didn't pay attention to what was in plain sight. 

Not until the clinking of a spoon in a cup drew his attention. Turning his gaze slightly up, he saw a blurry William-shaped form. Narrowing his eyes minutely to focus his sight better, he noted his dad was sat at the work desk, wordlessly observing as he stirred his tea, Fun-Time still beside him. 

Father was sitting neatly in his chair, well-illuminated by the desk lights. His pale undershirt appeared to be stained with sweat, and more small droplets still sat on his forehead. He had clearly lost his cool more than just a little, and Mike could feel the results. 

_"What a sorry sight you make."_ William muttered. _"I bet David was braver then, than you were just now, even in the face of his **untimely demise** "_

Michael wanted to rage, but his bones felt like they had turned to lead. He could only stay there, slumped, wincing and sobbing softly against the floor. He deserved to be brought to justice for what he had brought upon Jerry, but he had done nothing to hurt David. He certainly hadn't deserved _this._

A slow sigh of impatience rose from his father, and the man got out of his seat, leaving his tea on the desk. _"You know Michael, all is not lost just yet. David is irreplacible, as was your brother, but I feel we can move on from this loss together."_

Michael tried to rub away his tears as his father approached, but the man still "tsk-tsk"-ed in disapproval as he neared, before crouching. Both belts were hung from the loops in his smart trousers, and Mike flinched when he saw them there, ready to be used again. William smirked, slow and cruelly, down at his prey. _"Now, my boy, is your chance to redeem yourself. Have you been honest with me? I know you don't want to admit that you killed David, but is there... Anything else I should know~?"_

Mike didn't know what father wanted from him. He'd done all that was asked of him, at work and at home. David's death had been a freak accident, a flaw in his father's design. A statistical improbability, which had none the less claimed a life. 

He wasn't going to tell his father how he had ocassionally picked on a few newbies. He felt he had done Freddy's a favor, weeding out the weaklings and allowing the dedicated and loyal to get settled in. When he saw father reach down for one of the belts, Mike blurted out the first thing he thought of. 

"Steve is stealing from Freddy's!" 

His eyes widened and he clamped his hands over his mouth before averting his whole face, fearing the pain that was to come. 

It never did. His dad was still, as if rooted to the spot. Mike peeked just long enough to see a hint of surprise in his father's grey eyes. Of all things, he probably hadn't expected _that._

_"Oh? Is that so?"_ The man muttered, holding one of the belts threateningly at his side as he remained crouched next to his son. _"Then how come that we, in all these years of employing him, never noticed a clear discrepancy between the money made from paying customers, and the revenue collected at the end of the day? I think you are trying to create a scapegoat."_

Of course father would test him. "That's because it's not cash he takes from the register, Sir." Michael replied. "I have watched him on the cameras a lot these few weeks, but these last three nights, I saw him finding items that then never turned up at the lost-and-found. I think he sells customers' lost items without informing management. I-I couldn't call the police and didn't know what else to do, but I should have brought it to your attention immediately..." 

William huffed lowly. _"That you should. Let this be a learning experience not to keep **anything** from me. We have the same goal here, Michael... Seeing to it that Freddy Fazbear's Pizza thrives, even in adversity."_

Michael kept himself small, but dared to look at his father. "How will you deal with him?" He inquired. "He's been with the company for so long..." 

William chuckled lowly at that, and rose from the floor. _"Oh, I won't step in unless you fail in some spectacular manner. You noticed a problem, it is now yours to try and solve. **You** have amends to make to Freddy's, remember? Do what you are good at, and take care of that man for us in your own way. And not a word to the authorities, remember? I **dread** to think of what they would do to you, little monster."_

Michael would have laughed in his father's face if he had had the energy. That would certainly get him killed on the spot, but it would have been damn worth it. After this, the police couldn't do anything to Mike that he hadn't already seen. 

Instead he just nodded like the good boy he was, and stayed where he had come to rest after his father had tuckered himself out using the belts. Even long after William had left his workshop to get ready for work, Michael stayed down, aching in the silence. 


	7. Seeking a port

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael must fight his way through a silent minefield at home, and by the end, though still recovering, he wants nothing more than to just get back to work. Fortunately, Fuzzhare is nothing if not a loyal companion.

Eventually, Mike had to gather himself together again and get going. After three abandoned tries, he at last managed to get up onto his feet. He'd been down for so long that the world seemed to wobble as he rose, but he steadied himself on the nearest sturdy item in the workshop.

He didn't look Fun-Time Freddy in his pale eyes as he let go of the bear. If _this_ was the thing his father was going to let him tinker with, he didn't want anything to do with it now. Unless this prototype still faced a lot of substantial design changes, it would only serve to remind him of today.

Of how powerful his father really was.

Sinking back through his legs to prevent from having to bend his searing back, Mike collected his pale turtleneck off the smooth floor, and carefully worked the item back on. It hurt to shift the muscles in his back as he stuck his arms through the sleeves, and he groaned through his teeth as the fabric antagonized his bruised flesh.

He felt so, so tired. He wanted to slink off into bed and never leave it again.

With careful, light steps, he ascended the stairs back to the ground floor. He had no idea how late it was, but he hoped his sister had finished her show and moved on to some other part of the house.

Father was gone, that was one thing he had going for him at least. Once he reached the ground floor again and started heading for the stairs to the bedrooms, he was disappointed to see Elizabeth in the same place in the open living room. Although he tried to sneak past, she heard the groan of the wood flooring beneath his feet, and her green eyes followed him all the way until he left her sightline.

Stupid little brat. So perfect, never punished. She was probably amused at the sight of him inching painfully away.

.

Climbing the second staircase with difficulty, Michael passed up on looking himself over in the bathroom. He felt like he was carrying sandbags on all of his limbs, so eager was he to lay down and just cease all movement.

If he was still bleeding, so be it. It wasn't bad enough to kill him, that much he could feel. And if he was wrong in that assessment... Well, personally he wouldn't take dying as a loss, here.

Getting to his bedroom, he just managed to stop himself from collapsing recklessly into bed to just get it over with. Instead, he lowered himself slowly onto the soft surfacing, grimacing in spite of his caution. Every little touch to the skin of his back hurt like Hell, and in his solitude, he had no reason to refrain from letting the tears flow.

As a young boy Michael had been rather sensitive, and William had accepted that at the time. Around the age of eleven or twelve, though, something had changed. With two younger, very lively siblings demanding a lone father's watchful eye, Mike more and more found himself ignored or scolded when he needed help.

_"Show some maturity."_ father had begun telling him. _"You're a big boy, don't act so needy."_ Became another common dismissal. Finally, there was the old _"Your siblings need a good example, you need to try harder."_ lecture.

That demand for maturity was how, among other things, Michael had badly burned himself at the age of twelve. His right hand had become so seared from the hot stove top that he needed to be brought to the local hospital for immediate treatment.

His hand still hurt sometimes, but it was so rare that he was surprised to feel it bubble up now, when he was already badly hurting. His back ached so much that he barely even registered the phantom heat buzzing through his palm.

William, naturally, had chastised Mike for his lack of caution, and for wasting father's precious time when he was supposed to make Elizabeth and Jerry lunch. Berated him, a twelve year old boy, for burning himself trying to fry an egg unassisted.

.

Finally settled, Michael just let the badness crash into him, his tears and frustration battling every new wave, helping him work through it in the only way he could right now. Maybe, if he could just be left alone at this rock bottom long enough, acceptance would come to replace everything he was losing.

Frankly, complete numbness sounded like it would be a blessing, if this was gearing up to be his new norm.

His distress made his lungs suck in harsh gulps of air, agitating his throat. His sobs caused an accompanying irregular shuddering over the length of his back, the bruises and lashmarks shifting with the painful muscles beneath.

There wasn't much relief to be found here, and the pain kept him wide awake until his body could simply take no more, forcing him into a poor imitation of sleep that was as dreamless as it was scarcely rejuvinating.

He had no memory of even falling asleep when he woke, but he immediately wished to go back to that blissfully unaware state. Now awake, he had to contend with the aches again.

Pushing himself up with his arms just enough the check the time, he groaned and dropped himself back down, punctuating that with a regretful yelp. _Don't just toss yourself around Mikey, be gentle about it._ he reminded himself.

It was 18:50, and he had to eat eventually. The residual pain of his welts had been joined by the gnawing sensation of a stomach running on empty.

He drug himself back out of his bed, as much as he didn't want to leave it. Maybe getting active would help his bloodflow or some shit, and make him feel a little less cruddy. Right now though, movement was just making it all worse again. His back was stiff from how he'd slept, and as much as he wanted to work it loose, that would just exacerbate the stinging of his bruises again.

He walked to his bedroom door, intending to sneak downstairs to make himself some food, only to halt and reflexively hold his breath.

Footsteps were approaching, and they sounded like father's. Mike wanted to hurry back into his bed and pretend to be asleep, but he'd never make it there fast enough. He had no choice but to hope father wasn't here for him. He heard the bathroom door open and almost sighed with relief, but that joy was shortlived. Moments after hearing the bathroom door, the handle of his own door shifted and then moved down, the door sliding open to reveal William on the other side.

Michael shrunk in on himself a little bit, submissively averting his eyes. He spied the belt fastened neatly around his father's slim trousers, and tried not to let the breath he sucked in be too obvious.

What could father want from him right now? Michael wouldn't be going in to work again until Friday, and he had done nothing that could make him deserving of further punishment. Then again, this was William, and he didn't always need a reason.

Mike wasn't left to wonder for long.

_"Did you clean yourself up before going to bed?"_ His father inquired, regarding him with those cool, greyish eyes. Michael could only shake his head mildly. He'd considered it, at most, much too tired to actually go through with even a quick check. At that response, his father hummed with discontent and waved a hand to the open bathroom door. _"Go. We need to make sure you heal well."_

.

He had no choice but to obey, fearing the whip-like tool his father could unbuckle from his middle at any moment. He tried his best not to let his pain show too much as he passed William, but very little escaped those sharp eyes.

In the bathroom, Michael found himself faced by the full-length mirror next to the shower curtain.

He hated looking at himself in mirrors, especially big ones, and he always turned the rotating pane away from himself when he went into the bathroom. Now, though, he felt he didn't have that option.

So caught up in his own trepidation was he, that Mike only knew he'd been trapped when he heard the bathroom door be locked.

_"I'm sure you understand this is for your benefit,"_ His father muttered when Michael regarded him like a cornered animal. _"We must make sure that you do not fall ill as a result of your injuries, the Fazbear Family would hate for you to be indisposed."_

William requested for Michael to take off his turtleneck, but the young man was hesitant. When he took too long, his father briefly rolled his eyes and then approached, ready to 'help' his son through the painful ordeal. He guided Mike's arms at every step, like he was a damn 5 year old that was scared his shirt wanted to eat him.

Michael sucked in a breath through his teeth at a particularly unanticipated tug, but at last the turtleneck was removed. His tank top was tighter, but it was bloodied and torn in places. William didn't bother to remove it intact, instead simply cutting first the shoulder bands and then the back open with a pair of cloth scissors he fished out of a cabinet, leaving the newly-destroyed item to drop unceremoniously to the floor at Mike's feet.

Feeling helplessly exposed as his father began to look him over, Mike wrapped his arms anxiously around his stomach. He'd just have to endure it. He peeked behind him and saw his reflection looking nervously right back at him, the dark patches on his battered skin standing out like faded ink.

He winced at a particularly painful bit of pressure to one of the bruises he couldn't see, though it thankfully quickly let up again. It wasn't long until it returned with a vengeance, though. The sink's faucet was briefly operated, and soon after, something coarse began to be applied to his skin.

It glided smoothly, but it agitated his welts. When one began to suddenly sting, he realized he was being scrubbed with a sponge, and one of the wounds had reopened as a result. He shifted in discomfort, but his father would have none of it. His attempt to squirm away was foiled by a determined hand in his neck, his father's fingers immediately threatening to squeeze it as his head was pushed down to the countertop beside the sink.

_"Stay still."_ William snapped at him. _"I have to clean out your wounds, seeing as you refused to do so yourself. They need to be open before I can properly disinfect them."_

Mike only whimpered, the bruising around his neck still very present as evidenced by the pain he felt from his father's warning grip. He tried to be as still as possible, but the sponge's scrubbing was making all the pain flare up again, the stinging of what was probably soap only aggrevating the injuries more.

_"You have to understand,"_ William went on to mutter as he set the sponge aside and went on to soothe the bleeding sites with a cold, water-soaked rag. _"I may have been rough on you, but it was for everyone's benefit. You had left me no other choice, Michael. You're too dangerous if left uncontrolled, and I need to keep you tame for your sake."_

Michael decided not to entertain that statement with a reply. Instead he just peeked at his reflection again, at the broken, scared boy made to suffer this senseless punishment a second time.

The power he'd felt while watching Plushbear burn, the relief that had come with Steve's generous two hundred-dollar bonus, it was all gone. He'd truly never felt this weak. Even when William let go of his neck, Mike scarcely budged. While father went through the first-aid kit, Michael just thought, about everything that had happened, and about what he would do next.

He was still racking his brains when an even more painful sting dug deeply into his open injuries, making him almost shriek in his startlement. Father ignored his son's distress as he continued applying the disinfectant wound spray and then layered on a protective covering, sealing the reopened wounds away from catching on anything Mike would go on to wear after this ordeal.

_"Just listen to my advice, and all will be well."_ William assured, patting Mike on his unbruised right shoulder, the impact force radiating outward still earning a wince from the young man which of course went ignored.

His father left it at that, moving on to packing up the first-aid kit and returning it to its' storage before leaving the bathroom entirely, headed downstairs without another word.

Michael was left there, aching and confused, struggling to process everything through the lingering pain of the disinfectant.

He eventually padded his way back to his bedroom, closing the door and sliding back into bed, the blood-flecked turtleneck left discarded on the floor.

These were going to be just a _wonderful_ few days at home.

.

Michael intended to try and get some more sleep, the urge to get a scrap of food in him completely overshadowed by the need to stay far away from his father. He managed to rest for a while, although he was roused again, this time by an external force. Blinking his eyes open at the noise that had woken him, he quickly found its' source. William was actually in his doorway this time, and Mike shot upright with all the painful consequences that brought on.

_"At ease,"_ father murmured, inviting himself into the room. He was carrying something, and to Mike's perplexment, that item was a dinner plate, hosting a trio of sizable jacket potatoes with cheese and a small pile of various vegetables. Lifting up Michael's alarm clock and setting it gently aside, William used the nightstand to set down the plate.

Mike tried not to look too wary, knowing that his father had no tolerance for being thrown questioning looks by his children.

Will seated himself on a small stool beside the bed as Mike laid back down, the older man keeping his eye level deliberately just above his son's. _"Elizabeth refused to eat her greens, and it would be a waste to throw this away."_ He explained, spearing a small chunk of broccoli with a fork he'd brought, and holding it out to Mike. _"You need to eat well so you are ready for your next night shift."_

Michael was amazed. He could recall the last time he ate his father's cooking - a time some two years ago, when he'd found a leftover soup which he'd reheated in complete secret, in the dead of night.

On top of everything else he was a master of, William was a good - no, _great_ cook. If he wasn't interested in robotics or acting, he could have been the best chef Fazbear Entertainment would ever get. Scarcely believing this moment, Mike only opened his mouth when William urged him by pressing the vegetable against his closed mouth.

_"Come on, don't get difficult with me,"_ William warned, and Michael didn't hesitate a moment more. He chewed the piece of broccoli, its' mass just soft enough to bite into without it being mushy. The vegetable was perfectly steamed, in a way Michael had never managed to match in all of his attempts. Broccoli was his favourite vegetable once upon a time, and now he felt a ghost of that simple pleasure through the taste of the small chunk.

It hurt, slipping down his bruised throat, but he had to carry on. Next, his father brought a piece of stuffed potato to his mouth, which Michael also took. It was soft and warm and just a little crumbly, the texture on the inside helping the cheese melted within to cling to it, aiding the piece as a whole to go down more smoothly.

Michael was too tired to refuse the call any longer. After finishing his second bite, and with William already offering him the next, he met his father's silvery eyes.

"Why do you never cook for me anymore?" He inquired, and he forced down a sniffle at the slight frown he received seemingly in answer.

His father wouldn't leave him with just that, though. Sighing softly, he seemed to mull over some words in his head, a cauliflower tree dancing on the prongs of the fork as he bounced it up and down with his thumb. _"Because... Because you hurt me, hurt **us** , Michael. I have wanted to invite you back, there isn't a day where it isn't on my mind, but I fear it would not be good for any of us."_

Did he really think of it that much? Michael couldn't tell if his father was being honest with him, so desperate was he to just _talk_ that he didn't want to doubt a word out of the man's mouth.

"I-It's tasty," He voiced after swallowing the bite of cauliflower. "I miss it, eating with you..."

Father had an unreadable look on his face, not pausing the movement of the cutlery but clearly taking in his son's words. At another wondrous, flavorful bite of potato, Michael couldn't hold back his tears. "I miss the past, dad, when you'd ask me about how school was."

William remained quiet yet, continuing to offer Mike warm bites of food.

Michael suddenly felt like he had said far too much. He hadn't called William 'dad' in years, and the word had just slipped out so very carelessly. 'Sir' had been substituted in its' place long ago, and the term 'dad' felt like it no longer belonged.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir..."

William sighed again, deeper this time. _"I miss it too, son."_ He confessed. Reaching over a hand - which caused Mike to flinch somewhat - he brought his fingers to his son's cheek and rubbed it softly, _affectionately_.

_"I remember seeing you, and your sister, and your brother... It was a wonderful time, Michael."_

His father wasn't done talking, but Michael felt the chill creep in at the mention of _his brother._

William seemed like he was hurting as he continued uninterrupted. _"I wish things could have stayed that way, all four of us, happy. Alas, such a terrible thing you did."_

Michael knew damn well that father had displaced him from the family dinner table _years_ before Jerry's murder, but considering the weight of his sin, that hardly mattered. Father had begun punishing him before the day of his crime, and perhaps that had been deserved.

Another tear streaked down Mike's cheeks, and William's hand retracted as if revolted at its' touch. Mike felt himself under the close scrutiny of those grey eyes, and he wanted to just wilt away, get out of this silent confrontation.

_"I would welcome you back to dinnertime, but..."_ Father spoke, trailing off quickly. Michael didn't have the energy to reply anymore, the pain of his welts and that in his heart weighing too heavily to get the words out. _"I fear you may seek ways to hurt your poor sister, who already has to miss her little brother at her side of the table thanks to you."_

That was fair. Elizabeth probably hated him as much as he did her, anyway. Hell, if he shared dinner with her and father, she'd probably just bitch about Michael while everyone ate. It wouldn't be like the past, not at all. Nothing would feel right, even if they all played pretend as long as they could collectively manage.

.

After that one-sided exchange, both men gave up on talking. William continued to feed Mike the leftover dinner until the plate was empty, and after that he left without another word, only pausing in the doorway to peek over his shoulder with another indecipherable look.

Michael didn't want to spend any more time awake. Still worn out from his last night shift and all the mess that had followed it, he just wanted to be unaware again for a while. Once all alone he shifted and bit back a pained grunt as he dug an arm down the wall-facing side of his bed, fishing something out from underneath his mattress.

His favourite plushie, a small, bright red official Foxy the Pirate doll. He'd gotten it from Henry in 1983, as a gift while the family was in mourning. Mike had known of Foxy for a while before the four mascots were urgently rehomed to the rebranding Fredbear Diner location. The pirate had always been his favourite, and Henry had given him the plush in a bid to help him accept the unfortunate events that caused the sudden restructuring in the first place.

That younger Michael had ditched the Foxy mask the night of the accident, and stomped it to sharp red plastic bits in the tiretracks the ambulance had left as it had raced off with his father and poor injured brother, gasping his last little breath en route to the hospital.

The mask Mike despised, a bloodstained witness to his sin. The plushie, he eventually grew to love. It was small and easy to take everywhere with him, able to fit in pretty much any bag. Most of all, it was small enough to successfully hide from father.

Its' single, big yellow plastic eye was a little askew, giving the plushie a sort of innocent look, always gazing towards the sky as if in wonder. The floppy ears, determined to lean forwards, only added to that interperetation. Michael truly adored the plush, it imitated none of the rough edges that the actual Foxy the Pirate had, and it helped him to feel safe.

It was a little compressed now from taking all that weight for so long, but it was a sturdy plush and he knew it'd bounce back with a little help in regaining its' proper shape. Tucking the toy under his arm, he held it close as he made a concerted effort to force sleep.

.

The next few days were spent avoiding father, and the sparse conversation they'd had in his bedroom wasn't brought up once in their few and brief run-ins. It seemed William had somehow forgotten all about it, although Mike knew that was impossible. Father never forgot - he just selectively remembered, playing only the cards he needed to win.

Michael felt he knew the rules of the game, twisting and yet nebulous as they were, but he could never play a good hand. Usually, it was better not to place a bet at all, and steer clear of William instead.

Right now he was practicing just that. His small TV set was on and playing another episode of Thunderbirds to keep him occupied, and his Foxy plush was held close to him for comfort. His bruises still ached from time to time, and he felt tired from the lack of food in his stomach, but at least he felt secure in his solitude.

Despite trying, Michael failed to get any more food into his body after that Monday evening, and he'd felt increasingly faint as the days passed. He promised himself he would try eating something before leaving the house for his next night shift, but if he still could not keep anything down by that point, he'd just have to deal with it. He worked in a damn pizzeria, there would be leftovers up for grabs.

.

Out of curiosity, he weighed himself on Thursday morning. In the last few years he'd definitely noticed that he had a slight tendency to dip below the average for his age and height, but now he found himself dropping faster. The new job had stressed him a fair bit, as much as he'd loved the energetic day shifts, and not eating at all was taking a toll on him.

He'd have to watch his food intake better, and ramp it up some too. Running on empty for much longer could only end badly. He hated the idea of needing to spend more of his slow-growing savings on food to stay on his feet, but empty air was dreadfully lacking in nutrients.

Even with father was at work and Lizzie at school, Michael remained hungry, unable to stomach anything. He finally decided to just ditch the idea of eating before going in to work tomorrow evening. Steve would know which leftovers were best.

Steve... Recalling how he had ratted the guy out to cover his own arse was going to induce a headache if he didn't take his mind off of it. What to do... Well, Steve had kind of invited trouble, had he not? Yeah... Really, Mike had nothing at all to worry about. He'd _absolutely_ done the right thing!

Plus, Steve didn't need to know it had been _Mike_ who gave him away. Father would fire him with a curt report, listing some made-up inadequacy the janitor had supposedly displayed, and that would be all. Life would return to normal. Maybe some kid Michael had actually liked on the dayshift would take over cleaning duty to gain more experience for the future location.

Refusing to think of Steve for a moment longer, Mike returned to what he was doing: gearing up for tomorrow evening's journey to Freddy's. Frustratingly enough, his back still hurt frequently, and having to sit in a cruddy spinning chair for hours, with nowhere to lay down, would certainly not make him feel any better. He packed a small pillow into his work bag, alongside some essentials like his ID and a water bottle.

With how William had 'helped' him tend to his injuries, it was pretty clear to him that father expected him to go into work like normal, no delay. He would have to make it to and out of the office without arousing suspicion with any of the people he might encounter, and that would be the tough part.

He wasn't worried about Fuzzhare; the magically alive mascot seemed pretty dedicated to the whole secret friendship thing. In truth, Michael was looking forward to seeing _him_ again.

Only one more night at home, and then Freddy's would be his domain to oversee once more.

.

Mike's bicycle still had a flat tire, and he knew he wasn't in the best state to cycle to work. Taking the crappy umbrella his father had lent him after his first nightshift, he eased open the front door and slipped out into the dark Friday evening unseen, the rainclouds urging him on to Freddy's where he would find shelter.

His work clothing had still not been returned to him, and he frankly feared he would never get to see the item again. His father had made him such a wonderful gift, and he had sullied it.

Ruined it, in killing his father's friend.

Maybe it was best to consider it lost and gone, along with the memories attached to it. Not that Mike didn't already remember what happened to David _without_ needing any prompting, that happened plenty too. Like a bad dream, the event had lodged itself in his brain.

He thought of it all the way to Freddy's, the rapidfire failure of those springlocks still so very intriguing. How could something built by his father fail so catastrophically? Was it sabotage after all, or really something Michael had done wrong? In the beginning, he knew it wasn't anything he did. Now, doubts had shunted that certainty aside.

.

Steve was there to welcome Mike as he entered the building for his shift. "Heya, champ!" The janitor greeted as he approached the young Afton. "How are you now, good?"

_Pick just about any antonym for 'good', that'll give you a better guess._ Michael thought all while he nodded to the other man.

He would have liked to be honest with Steve, he didn't dislike him, but he also didn't want to garner the guy's pity or stir up trouble. He tried and failed to hide a wince as Steve gave him a hefty pat on the back, but either Steve didn't notice, or he decided not to ask.

"Hey, uh, before I get started... This place got any leftovers?" Mike inquired to the other man. "I kinda didn't eat anything before coming here..."

Steve chuckled at the question, though he did look concerned upon hearing Michael was eating poorly. "'S a pizzeria, no? Reheated pizza is how we do! You continue on to your office sport, I'll get you the freshest left-over crap we got. Can't guarentee it'll be good, definitely won't be _healthy_ , but it should work as stuffing for an empty tummy."

He had no trouble believing that. Michael had eaten plenty of pizza at Fredbear's as a kid, but that was back when his dad's business was brand new and he actually had to enforce strict _quality control_ on the food, because this early Fredbear and his friend hadn't yet started building a titanic fanbase of dumb, uncritical little kids.

.

Michael continued on to the security room, seating himself with extreme care now that his bruises had been brought to the forefront of his mind again. He'd just keep his head down as much as possible, and wait for this to blow over. His dad would step in and deal with Steve, and Michael would be safely tucked away in the office.

The janitor didn't leave him to wait long. Fifteen minutes after asking, Mike was presented with a plate piled with assorted pizza slices. Reheated and weirdly artificially sweetened as they were, it mostly counted as food. He thanked Steve and let the guy get started with his own work.

.

At 2 A.M, Fuzzhare became active and entered his camera view. Eager to see his animatronic friend again, Mike left the door cracked open just slightly as an invitation. He watched the tall hare make his way to the office, marveling at how acutely aware Fuzzy seemed to be of the janitor's whereabouts at all times. Once, when the two were almost close enough to appear on the same camera screen, Fuzzhare practically folded himself down to a smaller size, disappearing from view completely behind some decor.

Michael wondered how much noise that caused. It had to be minimal, considering Steve's complete lack of a response from where he was working.

Fuzzhare found himself held up for a little while as the cleaner went about his janitorial duties. Mike watched quietly, fishing his Foxy plush out of his bag and fidgeting with its' ears. If Fuzzhare got caught, he'd probably be taken apart for maintenance. Michael wondered if that would... _kill_ the enchanted and/or haunted mascot.

Mike hadn't managed to take a halfway considerable bite out of any of his pizza yet, having only minced the edge of one piece topped with sausage. The anticipation of watching the cameras certainly did nothing to help smooth out his nerves.

Thankfully, Steve didn't take long with the room he was in, and continued along his usual route, away from Fuzzhare. Once the coast was clear, the mascot cautiously resumed his trek to the security office.

.

Soon, Michael could hear the soft plods of animatronic footfalls, and evidently Fuzz took the nightguard's invitation for what it was, opening the door just enough to let himself in before closing it again behind him with care.

"I'm so glad to see you again Michael!" The golden hare chirped. "My bestest friend~!"

Mike almost smiled at the creature's excitement. Almost. Instead, he felt something within himself give way at the childrens' mascot's eager expression, and waterworks came in the place of a welcoming smile.

Fuzzhare noticed it immediately, and sunk through his knees enough to wind his big arms around the seated human, intending to give a comforting hug. Mike knew the mascot didn't mean to, but his sturdy exterior meant his hug wasn't as soft as a human's would be, and it _hurt_.

At the sound of the pained whine that rose from the human, Fuzz immediately released Mike again, those green eyes widening in alarm. "I'm sorry!" The hare vocalized, gripping on to the chair's armrests to stop himself from moving in some frantic manner. "I don't fully know my own strength yet!"

Michael nodded softly in acceptance, it hadn't been on purpose. He couldn't make his mouth work to say the words he wanted to say, but Fuzzhare was smart enough to see something was amiss. Upon being asked what was wrong, Mike simply spun the chair until his back was almost facing the animatronic and then stood up, hanging his head. Taking the hint, the golden suit trailed a hand gently down the human's back, pulling away when Mike winced again.

With a softness he didn't expect from a creature that had just admitted he didn't know his strength, Michael felt Fuzzy slowly lift the underside of his black turtleneck, revealing just a few of the now fading bruises William had inflicted upon him.

Mike thought he could hear an indignant gasp from the empty suit, and his clothing was carefully fixed back in place.

"Mikey," The hare whispered. "I'm so sorry he did that to you. I wish I could have protected you."

He still couldn't speak, as much as he wished he could. Fuzzhare was the only one he trusted to see him this weak, and it felt nice to hear that what his father had done had indeed crossed a line. He wanted to express his gratitude so badly.

.

This night, they didn't get much talking done. Fuzzy talked _to_ him and asked him more questions, but never demanded an answer, just giving the human time to think or eat some pizza when he looked like he needed it. It was good, to be in the company of someone who expected nothing from him while he was compromised.

At one point, Fuzzhare asked Mike if he wanted a hug - "a _very gentle one!_ " - the mascot specified. Michael really couldn't say no to the offer, despite his previous experience. The hare was a steady rock in a time when he didn't want to be bothered by anyone human. A secret only he knew, something like an imaginary friend given form.

Somehow, the entity convinced him to give up his seat in the chair in favor of settling in to the mascot's lap, on the floor. Using his Foxy plush and the pillow as bedding, Michael lay with surprising ease against the animatronic's sturdy plush frame. The suit felt somewhat like it was flocked, with a soft layer of fibre over top of the harder base. It didn't really work as padding for his battered body, but it was less cold and just a little more forgiving than a regular plastic shell would have been.

Miraculously, Michael somehow managed to fall asleep there, held in Fuzzhare's arms. While the human caught up on lost rest, the hare mascot kept his own green eyes on the cameras.


End file.
